Promises Remembered
by Robin4
Summary: Sirius is ten years out of his time. Remus is having disturbing visions. James is struggling to hold the world together. Peter is trying to learn how to live without lies. Sequel to Promises Unbroken, AU. Updated for HBP.
1. Chapter 1: The Cost

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

**Friends.**

**Brothers.**

**Marauders.**

**The last line of defense.**

Chapter One: The Cost

_"No!"_ Lily screamed, instinctively rushing forward.  Dumbledore couldn't be dead.  The symbol and icon of the war against Voldemort could not have fallen.  Even the Killing Curse could not slay Albus Dumbledore.  It wasn't possible.  He couldn't be gone.  If she could only reach his side, everything would be all right—

"No, Lily!" Strong arms suddenly grabbed her from behind and dragged her back.  Death Eaters were surging forward, and a smiling Voldemort strode towards them as well, his red eyes burning with power and satisfaction.  Despite this, Lily fought desperately to reach her old mentor's side, but Sirius Black picked her up off the ground and bodily hauled her through the opening.  "The doors, Hestia!"

Jones cast the spell immediately and the marble wall sealed itself with a final crash.  The opening closed off none too soon; the passageway shook and rocked as spells impacted against the barrier, and Sirius kept dragging her back.  The Aurors, too, were running, and Lily distantly noticed that there were only two of them where once there had been five.  Sirius must have come alone, but she couldn't care at the moment.  Desperately, Lily tried to pull away once more.

"We have to go back," she pleaded.  "We can't leave him!"

"He's dead, Lily," Sirius said quietly.  "There's nothing more we can do—"

"No!—We've got to—to—"

"Come on Lily!  We've got to get out of here before the whole place comes apart."  Sirius had stopped, and looked her in the eye.  His face was every bit as pale as Lily imagined herself to be, but his voice was still hard.  "I'll carry you if I have to, but it'll be a lot faster if you run." 

_Albus…_ Hot tears rose for her friend, but Lily blinked them back.  Reality intervened.  There wasn't time, and Sirius was right.  She let out a shuddering breath as the ceiling above them began to shake.  "Let's go."

Few would ever understand how much those words cost her.

---------------

Chairs flew as both Professor Snape and Professor Fletcher dove to the headmaster's side, nearly upending the head table in the process.  Lupin lay on his back on the floor, twitching slightly and shuddering inexplicably.  Surprised students in the hall were screaming and carrying on, looking around wildly for threats—but there were none, and even if there had been, Harry would never have noticed.  He was too busy rushing to the side of the man whom he had grown up knowing as an uncle.  Madam Pomfrey, too, was hurrying in the headmaster's direction; Snape and Fletcher were now struggling to hold him down as Remus' body jumped into a convulsion.

Harry reached the dais and jumped up onto it, only to have Hagrid, recently returned from another mission for Dumbledore, grab his arm.  Frantically, Harry tried to pull away, but the half-giant was too strong and held him back easily.

"Let me go!"

The crowd of professors around the headmaster had doubled in size, and Hagrid glanced their way before replying.  "I can' let yeh do that, Harry.  Yeh have the stay back, now.  We don' know what's goin' on—"

"I don't care!" Harry interrupted him urgently.  "I need to—" Hagrid's other hand clamped down on his shoulder, cutting off all chance of escape.

"Professor Lupin wouldn' want yeh getting hurt," the gamekeeper replied firmly.  "Yeh can stay here an' watch, but yer goin' no closer."

Harry let out an angry sigh by decided not to object.  Arguing with Hagrid was like trying to ride a centaur.  It simply didn't work.

Anxiously, he watched Snape, Fletcher, and Pomfrey lean over Remus, trying all manner of spells to wake him.  The headmaster was still, now, but whether that was caused by a well-placed Full Body Bind or something else, Harry couldn't tell.  However, Remus looked paler than usual under the bright lights in the Great Hall, and Harry thought he saw something flickering underneath the headmaster's closed eyelids.  The nurse and the two professors were speaking too quietly for him to overhear, but the concerned looks on all three faces were impossible to miss at such a short distance.

Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick was herding the other students out of the hall.  Many of them hesitated, looking worriedly in Remus' direction on the way out, but the Slytherins murmured excitedly as they passed, and Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy grinning.  Not too far away, Hermione caught his eye and mouthed a question: _Is he all right?_  But Harry could only shrug.  Even Hagrid seemed uneasy.

After several minutes, Harry was the only student left in the Great Hall.  The rest, no matter how reluctant, were heading back to their respective dormitories and away from the action.  He was the only one there to see what happened—except for the fact that nothing was happening.  Remus still lay absolutely motionless on the floor, and Harry would have feared that he was dead if not for the slight rise and fall of his chest.  Someone, he noticed, had summoned a pillow to cushion his head, upon which Harry spotted some leftover blood from where it had struck the hard floor.  But the wound had been expertly healed, so that could not be the reason why Remus remained unconscious.

Before Harry could begin to guess at other reasons, though, the headmaster's body gave a giant convulsion and Remus jerked awake.  He flailed around blindly for a moment until Snape and Fletcher caught his thrashing arms and forced him back down.  The other professors only watched in shocked silence as Remus struggled against them unthinkingly.  His breathing was coming in short and rapid gasps, and his chest was suddenly heaving with the effort.

"Easy, Remus," Fletcher started quietly.  "There's no need to—"

"Don't move," Snape cut him off tersely.  "You'll only hurt yourself more."

Remus shook his head.  "Sit up," he wheezed.  "I need to sit up."

Harry had never seen Remus Lupin lose control, nor ever seem so lost or confused.  His blue eyes were wide and darting unseeingly around the Great Hall, and his head was sweeping back and forth, searching for bearings that he could not find.  Cautiously, Snape and Fletcher helped him to sit up, but both professors looked extremely unhappy about the situation.  Shaking, Remus immediately pressed both palms to his forehead as if he was afraid that his head was going to explode.

"Where am I?" he whispered into the silence.  Harry watched his eyes close again.

"At Hogwarts," Fletcher replied gently.  "You're still at Hogwarts, Headmaster."

"The Ministry…"

Fletcher frowned.  "No, you're at—"

"What about the Ministry?" Snape cut him off again.

"It's gone."  Remus' eyes flew open.  "Dear God, it's _gone_."  He staggered to his feet before anyone could stop him, and almost fell before Snape and Fletcher caught him.

"What do you mean it's gone?" Professor Sinistra demanded shrilly.

"Voldemort…" He stumbled a step away from the two professors, pressing his trembling hands against his temples once more.  Several teachers gasped and all went pale; at his back, Harry felt Hagrid tense.  Remus, however, saw none of that as he stood quivering and staring at the floor.  Suddenly, though, his head snapped up, and a look of horror crossed his face.  "No," he whispered.  "Dumbledore…"

A sharp cry split the air.  It was a beautiful song, and sad, yet somehow strong and heartbreaking at the same time.  Quickly, Harry followed Remus' gaze with his eyes and felt the others doing the same.  At the far end of the Great Hall, a red and gold creature swooped down in their direction.  Although Harry had only seen a phoenix once before, he recognized the bird immediately.  It was Fawkes.

Graceful and ragged, the phoenix landed upon the table before the headmaster.  His large eyes stared only at Remus, who, after a moment, reached out a shaky hand to touch Fawkes scorched feathers.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Remus whispered.

The way that Fawkes' head drooped and the silver tear that landed silently upon the head table were the only answer they could require.

---------------

"James?  James?  Goddamn it, Prongs, talk to me!"

            "Do you think he'll live?"  Some witch he didn't know asked the question, but he could hardly care.  An angry swipe of his hand cleared the blood out of his eyes.  Only then did Peter realize he was shaking.

            He shook James again.  This couldn't be happening.  "C'mon mate, wake up," he pleaded.  "Don't do this to me!"

            "Do you think there's any chance?" the witch pestered him.  They were deep in the underground tunnels beneath the Ministry, and dust was everywhere.  The lift had landed hard, and he'd barely managed to drag his friend free of the rubble.  She hadn't been much help.  "There's a lot of blood here, you know."

            He ignored her.  "James?" 

            "You could just try to revive him, you know."

            "D'you think I didn't already try that?" he demanded angrily.  "If I thought that would work, I'd be doing it over and over again!"

            "Well, there's no need to snap at m—"

            "Unless you're a healer, shut up!" Peter snarled.  "I've got better things to do than listen to your useless prattling!"  Anxiously, he turned to his friend again.  He'd tried every spell he knew to wake his friend up, and it worried him to no end that James still wasn't moving.  "C'mon James…wake up.  We've got to get out of here before Death Eaters show up—"

            The witch screamed and he was on his feet quickly, wand in hand and searching for threats.  Peter had never been talented in combat magic like James or Sirius, but his friend was in danger.  "What is it?"

            "He moved!"

            "What?" Immediately he dropped to his knees again, letting go of his wand and not caring where it went.  But James was indeed stirring.  "James?  James, can you hear me?"

            "Umm…"

            "That's it, James," he said desperately.  "Wake up."

            His friend's eyes flickered open.  "I'd rather wake up to Lily's face," James mumbled.  "You're ugly."

            "Sorry.  Lily's not here right now."  _And I don't know where she is._

            "That's okay," James whispered.  "Where are we?"

            "Under the Ministry," he answered.  "But we've got to go before the Death Eaters catch up to us."  His heart was racing.  They'd been here too long.  "D'you think you can move yet?"

            "No."  James' voice was very quiet.

            "What?"  He'd been looking around for avenues of escape, but his head whipped around to face his friend again.  

            "Small problem, Peter.  I can't feel my legs."

Peter bit off a few words his overbearing mother would have never forgiven him for saying.  Being around Sirius had never been good for his language… He swallowed hard.  _He can't feel his legs._  All of a sudden, Peter felt cold inside.  This was everything but good.

"Are you sure?" was all he managed to ask.

"Quite sure, actually," James replied, and his voice was tight with pain.  "Trust me, Wormtail.  I might be an idiot, but even I wouldn't make this up."

Peter swallowed.  "I had to hope."

"Yeah.  Me, too."  James' eyes flickered around the sub terrain tunnel they were in and caught sight of the witch who was still staring at them both.  With a great effort, he pushed himself up on his elbows and turned his head to look down the dark passageway to Peter's right.  "I think you two ought to—"

"If you even finish that thought, Prongs, I will curse you right now," Peter cut him off angrily.  He knew exactly what his friend was going to say.  "I am _not _leaving you.  So don't even say it.  Don't even _think _about it."

James scowled.  "You hear that?" he demanded, and Peter listened.  There were footsteps and shouting a floor above them, and they both knew what that had to mean.

"Yes," he responded, surprised at his own calm.  His heart was racing, but for once in his life, he wasn't scared to death.  Maybe that was because one of his friends was depending upon him, and Peter had failed them far too many times already.  "But the chance of me leaving you here runs between zero and nothing, so don't even bother."

"Peter, you are undoubtedly one of the stupidest people I have ever met," James growled fondly, and Peter grinned despite himself.  Evidently, the oddly calm feeling he had didn't extend to his shaking hands, but at least he could breathe.

"Sure I am."  Quickly, he glanced around. The underground tunnels beneath the Ministry were still quiet, but how long that would last, Peter could not know.  He had to get James out, and quickly—but how?  Unless a miracle happened in the next thirty seconds or so, James couldn't feel his legs, and that left Peter in a hell of a pickle.  He wasn't about to leave his friend; doing so was not even an option for a Marauder, even one who had gone astray for so many years.  He took a deep breath._  No matter the other foolish things I've done, I have never betrayed my friends_, Peter thought desperately.  _And I'm not about to start now._

"What are we going to do?" the witch asked suddenly, tearing his attention away from the _minor _problem at hand.

"We?" Peter echoed dubiously.  He certainly had no intention of dragging the nervous and frightened witch along in his attempt to rescue James.  His own feeble attempts at heroism were apt enough to fail without her help.

"Yes, we," James interrupted before she could reply.  "Where else is she going to go?"

Peter frowned.  "Right…um, James, do you know the way out of here?"

"Of course I do," the Auror replied firmly.  Then confusion crossed his dusty features.  "If I knew were we were, anyway…"

"Ah.  Not good."

"No kidding," James breathed, looking around again.  "Well, there are only two ways to go, and one of them is the way out.  Since we've got a fifty-fifty chance, I'd say go right."

Peter swallowed, and had to ask.  "What's the wrong direction do?"

"Take us to a dead end."  James smiled apologetically.

"Great." 

---------------

"Get them out of here!" Sirius shouted.

They were aboveground now, and right in the middle of Muggle London.  The old red telephone box that had once been the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic had been uprooted and relocated to at least a hundred feet away from where it had once stood; Sirius was standing right in front of it, and knew that he was nowhere near where the box was supposed to be.  The nearby offices and buildings were in shambles, and the dumpster that had been there that morning was nowhere to be found.  Rubble covered the street, and the alleyway seemed wider than it had once been—and then Sirius realized that was because at least one building had been completely destroyed by the underground blast.

And of course, curious Muggles were beginning to approach.  

He heard sirens, and growled under his breath, turning his head in their direction.  Flashing lights and motor vehicles—just what he needed.  The Muggle version of law enforcement.  _Beautiful._  Sirius gestured wildly at his skeleton force of Aurors as the ground shook again.  "Get the Muggles out of here!"

"What are we supposed to do with them?" Hestia Jones demanded.

"Why should I care?"

Flashbulbs were going off in his face, and the Muggle reporters were closing in.  Or perhaps some of them were magical folk, too, but Sirius didn't have the time to care—and devoutly hoped that any witches or wizards would have the sense to stay away when Voldemort was beneath their very feet.  Hestia swung into action immediately, though, driving the curious back with angry shouts and a suggestive wave of her wand.  They fled once she sent giant sparks flying in their general direction, thoroughly traumatized.  Once, such a careless display of magic would have meant days of work for the Obliviators, but for all Sirius knew, all the Obliviators were buried underneath the Ministry.

Instead of concerning himself with the Muggles—and the undaunted policemen who were heading his way, sparks or no—Sirius spun around, trying to count how many people he actually had under his command in this disaster.  When he'd arrived, witches and wizards had been fleeing the Ministry, and most of them had apparently Apparated away to safety.  Some, however, lingered, and he could see Aurors appearing.  When he and his colleagues had fled, there hadn't been time to set a meeting point; Sirius himself had Apparated to Diagon Alley because it had been the first place to enter his mind.   The shortage of Aurors had proved fatal when Hestia and four others had barged in to help Dumbledore and the refugees, and there was a high chance of it doing so again.  A quick count told Sirius that he was still shy of a dozen, and a frightened corner of his mind began to wonder how many had died in the blast.

But there wasn't time for that now.

"Stay back from the opening!" he screamed suddenly, waving Oscar Whitenack away from the underground passageway leading to the Ministry, which was still wide open from their exit only minutes before.  Just as he realized what a mistake it was to leave the path open, though, fire sprouted from the breach and Oscar fell back, burning and smoking.  Only Kingsley Shacklebolt's quick action pulled him away in time, and Hestia's Fire Extinguishing Charm saved his life.

Oscar was still down, though, leaving him with nine Aurors.  Ten counting himself.  Sirius burst into motion.  "Seal that breach!" 

Several Aurors approached, but more fire leapt out at them before anyone could act, warning Sirius that Voldemort and his followers had definitely made it past the first barrier.  One of the Aurors—he thought it was Mucia Coleman, but he wasn't sure—stumbled backwards, clutching an arm that sprouted with flame.  _This is getting bad._

The ground rocked again, nearly spilling Sirius off his feet.  To his right, he saw Lily, her tear-streaked face covered in dirt, stagger and barely catch herself.  This time, however, the street didn't stop shaking, and even as the Aurors struggled to seal the opening, a section of pavement came flying upwards and almost crushed several of the escaped Ministry employees.  Nearby Muggles were screaming, and the pub collapsed with a crash, sending wood fragments flying every which way and pelting the crowd with rubble.  Sirius flinched and tripped over a flying bench in his effort to reach the still-open breach, then he saw Kingsley and the others fly backwards as if swept aside by a giant hand of power.

Lily, still in shock, only stared.

"Lily, get them out of here!" Sirius gestured desperately at the crowd of mixed witches, wizards, and Muggles.  They were still staring, only staring, beautiful and easy targets sitting in plain sight—and things were about to get worse.

A final and giant great heave, and then the ground lifted underneath Sirius' feet and sent him sprawling.  Despite the dire situation and the Death Eaters that he was certain they were about to encounter, the Auror had to smile.  It wasn't a kind smile, but was definitely one that his colleagues would recognize.  _Things just got worse._

Flat on his back, Sirius could only watch as Voldemort and his followers strode out from the Ministry.  Dark power swept around them, and the escaped witches and wizards were screaming in terror—Muggles joined in, not quite understanding why, but knowing to be afraid all the same.  The approaching Muggle policemen started firing their weapons at the Death Eaters, recognizing the threat they posed, but Voldemort only laughed.

It was the same high-pitched laughter that haunted Sirius' nightmares, and it drove him to his feet.  Lily, too, seemed spurred into action, and out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw her shouting at the witches and wizards to flee.

Cold.

He almost didn't notice the cloaked figures behind Voldemort until it was too late.  One swept out from behind a Death Eater and clamped skeletal hands around an Auror's neck, drawing her close.  Kingsley tried to cast a Patronus from not far away, but a Death Eater intervened—chaos surrounded him, and Sirius dodged several spells, and was struck by at least two others, although the adrenaline rush kept him from feeling their immediate effects, save for a little distant pain.  He was hardly able to follow the action as Death Eaters and Dementors spilled from the opening, targeting Muggles and wizards alike.  There were screams all around him, and another building fell.  Sirius dodged a Killing Curse and cast one of his own—there was no time for niceties and there were too many enemies, far more than he'd have ever thought possible.  He was shivering, he knew, too close to too many Dementors, but there wasn't time to care.  He could only cast spells and dodge wildly, praying that Lily could get the others to safety and that his companions would be all right.

And Voldemort kept laughing.

Sirius caught sight of Rabastan Lestrange on his left, and barely managed to dive out of the way before a red jet of light could hit him.  He risked a glance around, then, and quickly wished that he hadn't; the scene was pure insanity.  A Dementor bent over a Muggle policeman, and several other Muggles lay dead nearby.  A child was screaming to Sirius' right; foolishly, Hestia dragged the little girl aside, only to be struck by a curse for her troubles.  But the Auror only staggered and did not fall, snarling back defiance at her attacker and sending the Death Eater flying.

Another building collapsed to its foundations.  Spells filled the air, far too many of them striking home against his Aurors and not enough hitting the enemy—there were only four of them standing now: Sirius, Kingsley, Dawlish, and Hestia, who was wobbly and unsteady on her feet.  Oscar was still down, and even as he watched, Alice Longbottom collapsed with a scream.  The street kept shaking, even though Voldemort had already broken through the hastily constructed wards.  Bodies covered the ground, now, both magical and Muggle.  They weren't very different in death.

They were fighting a losing battle.  Even though he hated to admit it to himself, Sirius knew it was true.  There were simply too many Death Eaters, too many Dementors—and he was down to four Aurors plus Lily, who hadn't had the sense to get out while she could.  Reaching out as she approached, Sirius grabbed her arm.  "Are you crazy?" he demanded.  "Leave!"

"Not without you!" Lily glared green daggers at him, and Sirius could only growl.  He knew that look.

"You're not trained for this!"

In response, Lily fired off a curse that took an unsuspecting Death Eater down.  She didn't even have to give him a triumphant look to get the point across; besides, Sirius hardly had the time to argue.  Curses were flying too fast, and the Aurors were too busy—and deep down inside, he knew they were going to lose.  It was only a question of how many of them were going to die before they did.  He felt so cold.

_Death Eaters in Muggle London.  _The thought wouldn't leave him alone; he couldn't bear to leave them alone.  _Dementors in Muggle London_.  It made him feel empty inside, especially knowing what he had to do.  Screams still filled the alley, bouncing off the few still-standing buildings.  Those who could flee had—but what would the rest do?  The Muggles couldn't see the Dementors, and several had run right into their arms… Sirius shuddered, and then Kingsley went down.  Three Aurors against a legion of Death Eaters, plus the Dark Lord.  Sirius would gladly lay down his life to save the innocent, but he knew that wouldn't work.  For a moment he toyed with the idea of challenging Voldemort outright, but he knew that the Dark Lord wasn't such a fool.  Sirius would never get the chance to fight him alone.

"Plan Zulu!" Sirius shouted, spinning around and dragging Lily out of the way of a curse as he did so.  There was nothing left to do but run.  He hated to, but he had to save those he could—and sacrifice those he couldn't.  He met Lily's eyes.  "Get out of here, Lily!"

Without waiting for a response, he sprinted away, heading for Kingsley Shacklebolt's unconscious body.  _Never leave a friend behind_.  The Aurors did not abandon their own, not unless they had no choice—behind him, Sirius heard a _crack_, and devoutly hoped that his best friend's wife had fled while she still could.  Far away, he saw Hestia grab Oscar, who was regaining consciousness, and caught a glimpse of Dawlish dragging Alice aside before Apparating away.  _This is it_, he thought angrily.  _But it isn't over!_

The screams had died down, now—the Dementors and Death Eaters had used up all the ready targets except for the Aurors.  The remaining Muggles were either dead or soulless, and Voldemort was beginning to concentrate on his fleeing enemies.  Suddenly, a chill raced down Sirius' spine, and red eyes met his own—

But he Apparated before Voldemort had a chance to act.

---------------

Peter had conjured a stretcher up for James because it was easier for him to control than a floating body, but he was still bouncing his friend off the walls every now and then.  Above them, the shouts were growing louder, and Peter knew the Death Eaters were searching for someone—he could only pray it wasn't for them.  Unfortunately, though, he knew that Voldemort wanted James dead.  _And me,_ Peter thought honestly.  _And we're both really great targets right now._  His hands threatened to start shaking again, but Peter stilled them before James could see.  He had to be strong right now—both for his friend and for the unknown witch who he'd somehow gotten roped into saving.

"You're doing fine, Peter," James suddenly said quietly.  "We'll be out of here soon."

Peter stole a glance at his friend before squinting down the dark tunnel once more.  "Am I that easy to read?"

"After this long?  Yeah."

"Are we going the right way?" the witch asked quietly.  At least she seemed to share his fears.  James sounded entirely too calm.

"I think so," Peter replied, swallowing.  _How can James do this all the time?_  His hands were trying to shake again.  "It shouldn't be much further."

They continued walking in silence, their footsteps echoing ominously against the cold rock.  The tunnels were old and dusty; Peter doubted that anyone had been in them in centuries.  When he'd asked James how he knew about them, his friend had only answered that Aurors were always certain to know _everything _about the Ministry.  Unfortunately, that everything didn't extend to an infallible sense of direction, so they were still left guessing…and not knowing if this was the path that would lead to salvation or death.  _With my luck, _Peter thought ruefully, _this will be the dead end.  _But at least he wasn't alone.  James' presence was reassuring, even though his friend was incapacitated at the moment.  At least he wasn't alone.

"Peter?" James suddenly said quietly.  His voice was tight—with pain, Peter thought incorrectly.  "I think we'd better stop."

He frowned.  "Why?  It can't be much further." 

"Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?" the witch asked nervously as Peter strained to listen over the sound of his own beating heart.  He was certain that the thunder in his ears wasn't the sound of someone approaching, but then what was that rattling sound…?

"Peter, get down!"

An awful black shadow swept out of the darkness at him, and Peter barely had time to jump aside.  The witch screamed and he heard her fumbling for her wand—James cursed and rolled the ground with a _thump_…but all Peter felt was cold, cold voices echoing in his head.

_"There's no way out, Pettigrew… Unless you prefer death, of course.  I'm sure that our Master would be happy to arrange for that, after all…"_  Dark.

Coldness. _"Your father's dead, Peter.  I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do…"_

He shivered, pulled back.  Laughter echoed in his ears; Voldemort's laughter.  He remembered realizing that it was too late, that there was no way back—and that he'd doomed his friends instead of saving them.  He'd tried to protect them and failed yet again—_No!_  Peter's eyes flew open.  Sudden clarity leapt into his mind at the thought of his friends, of James.  There were two Dementors, and one was almost on top of his friend, who could not back away.  James' wand was raised, but they were too close.

_"Expecto Patronum!" _Peter shouted.

But only silver mist drifted out of his wand's tip, and the closest Dementor turned to _him_, now, away from the witch and drawn to his defiance.  Fear threatened to close Peter's mind off completely.  He'd always been terrible at advanced magic.  His Patronus hadn't ever been well defined at all, even when he wasn't under pressure…  Out of all his friends, he had always been the worst at everything…

_Friends._

The thought was like a fire in his mind, and suddenly he saw James' face.  He saw Sirius and Remus, as everything had once been, laughing and joking as if the world was theirs' for the taking.  They were unbreakable.  Friends.  Brothers.

Marauders.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

Without warning, a stag leapt out of his wand and charged the Dementors down.  Almost before Peter could blink, the creatures had fled, and he was left to watch stupidly as his stag dissolved into midst.  He could hardly believe it.  That was the first real Patronus he'd ever created, the first one that had a shape and meaning to it… Peter blinked, and then smiled a little bit.  He'd never imagined that his Patronus would have wound up to be Prongs.  _James!_

He spun, searching for where his friend had fallen off the stretcher, which still floated placidly in the air.  James wasn't far away, blinking and snarling angrily under his breath.

"Are you all right?" Peter asked, kneeling by his side.

"Yeah.  Brilliant."  James scowled.  "Sorry I wasn't much help there, mate… I just…"

"I know.  It happens," he replied more casually than he felt, carefully levitating James back on to the stretcher.  Then he turned to face the witch as she pulled herself to her feet.  "Are you okay?"

She nodded shakily.  "Thank you."

"No problem."  Peter smiled wanly, noticing with vague amusement that his hands were shaking again.  "Let's just get out of here before something else sneaks up on us, okay?"

"Good.  Idea."  James responded in a tight voice that told Peter that he was furious with himself, but unfortunately, he didn't have time to deal with his friend's feelings.  James simply hated feeling helpless, but he'd get over it, Peter knew.  He always did.

Several silent moments passed as the trio traveled, each straining their ears to pick up the sounds of _anything _approaching, but as they trekked further into the tunnels, the silence merely grew deeper.  After ten long minutes, Peter began to despair, wondering if they would ever escape—but just as he was screwing up the courage to voice his concerns, the proverbial light appeared at the end of the tunnel.

"Do you see that?" the witch asked breathlessly.

"Yeah."  Peter grinned.  "I see it."

_Thunk_.  His distraction had led him to temporarily forget his friend, and the stretcher bumped into the rock.  Still, James' tone was amused, "Do mind the walls, Peter."

"Sorry."  By unspoken consent, they quickened their pace, heading quickly for the promise of freedom.  Finally, they reached the narrow metal door; its small and dirty window had issued the light that they had spotted from further away.  After a moment of fumbling, Peter managed to force the rusty hinges to operate, and they stepped out into the sunlight—and surprisingly, into Diagon Alley.  Dumbstruck, it was all Peter could to do stare for a moment; he hadn't realized that they had come so far.  The small doorway emerged right next to Gringotts.

He turned to James, who looked horribly pale in the light of day.  His hands hadn't stopped shaking yet, which told Peter that things could still get worse.  "We've got to get you to St. Mungo's."

"No," his friend replied with a patient frown.  "We've got to get to Hogwarts.  It's safe, and I know that's where Albus will go—"

"St. Mungo's," Peter cut him off firmly.  "I know you're worried about everything, but for once, James, _please _don't play the hero.  We need to get you healed first."

James scowled deeply, but Peter wasn't about to quit.  Finally, the Auror growled out his reply.  "Fine."

---------------


	2. Chapter 2: Alone in the Dark

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

Second Author's Note:  Double Update!  I've also updated _Grim Dawn,_ my other ongoing AU.  Also, if you haven't read my new story, _Forget Me Not: A Story of Broken Promises_, please check it out.  Events in _Forget Me Not _have later (slight) significance in this universe.  Click on my user name to access all my stories.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Two: Alone in the Dark

One of the last things that the students loitering in the courtyard expected to see was Sirius Black striding through the castle's gates, dressed in dusty black robes and with the side of his face caked in dried blood.

Sunset was falling, now; the leaving feast had been cut short by the headmaster's unexplained collapse, and everyone was still trying to figure out what had happened.  Although Harry had been the only student permitted to stay during that mysterious ordeal, due to his unusual relationship with the headmaster, even he didn't understand what had happened.  All he knew was that Remus had said that the Ministry had been destroyed and that Dumbledore's phoenix had come to Hogwarts—but how could Remus _know _about the Ministry?  He'd fallen and laid there in silence for so long, and it was impossible to destroy the Ministry of Magic.  Everyone knew that.  

Harry shivered suddenly.  His parents were both at the Ministry, and so was Peter and so many others… But the Ministry was unbreakable.  Its security was the best.  He swallowed.  If it was impossible, why did he feel so cold?

Looking at Sirius didn't help matters at all.  The godfather he'd so recently come to know looked different from how Harry had ever seen him; he was cold now, expressionless and implacable.  Sirius suddenly seemed dangerous, and he strode forward with long and purposeful strides, sweeping across the courtyard as if his eyes saw nothing and everything at the same time.  His gaze was both distant and furious, and Harry had never, ever, seen someone move with such unconscious power and presence.  For a moment, it was almost frightening to see, but then he reminded himself that this was Sirius, his godfather and his father's best friend.  There was nothing to fear.

Others didn't seem to agree as Harry jogged up to intercept Sirius' path; whispers were coming from nearly every student in the half-full courtyard.  No one knew what to think or what to do.  Harry heard Hermione's shocked exclamation from behind him, but he ignored her and hurried to catch up with his godfather.

"Sirius!"

The Auror broke stride and only seemed to notice Harry when he heard him speak.  His voice was terse.  "Not now, Harry."

Harry stopped, unable to believe his ears.  "What?"

"There's not time."  Briefly, Sirius reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder, but even that motion seemed distracted and distant.  His blue eyes grew dark.  "Later."

"What are you doing here, Black?" A cold voice suddenly demanded, and Harry turned to see Snape approaching.  Sirius, however, did not remain still; instead, he moved forward again, striding straight up to the hook-nosed terror of Hogwarts.

"I need to speak to the headmaster, Snape."

Something flickered across the other's features; his face was tight.  "He is resting."

"This is important."  Harry had never seen Sirius so cold.  "I would not be here if it was not."

"At the moment, I don't particularly care," Snape snarled.  "I do not believe you understand the situation—"

"No, I don't think _you _understand," Sirius cut him off, and then suddenly peered at the deputy headmaster with newfound worry.  "Unless you didn't know—?"

Realization dawned on both faces at the same time, and Snape went pale.  His voice was hardly above a frightened whisper, and Harry doubted anyone further away could hear him.  "The Ministry."

Sirius nodded curtly.  "We may have bigger problems that I thought."

---------------

Within the next few hours, the students were sent home—a day early and without explanation—on the Hogwarts Express.  All of the students, that was, except for a specific few, and Harry found himself along with all of the Weasleys, amongst them.  Neville Longbottom, too, stayed, and so did several others—all of which, Harry suspected had parents in the Order of the Phoenix.  Although they discussed the circumstances quietly amongst themselves, none could figure out the reason for their continued presence, unless there was some danger to them, as children of members of the Order.  But none of them could understand what the Dark Lord would want with a bunch of underage witches and wizards.

Things started to get more interesting when most of the professors left that evening, and their parents started arriving a few hours later.

Harry almost missed his mother as she arrived by Molly Weasley's side; he'd never seen his mum and Ron's together, and almost didn't recognize his mother's tired and strained features.  Not far behind the pair, Bill Weasley helped his father along; Ron's dad was walking with a pronounced limp.  Before he could reach his mother's side, though, he saw Sirius stride out to meet her.

"How is he?" Harry's godfather asked immediately.

Lily shrugged, looking very old and tired.  "They don't know yet…" she swallowed.  "The Aurors you left with him are still there."

"Good."  Sirius turned to the short man at Lily's side.  "I hear you did well today, Peter."

The blonde wizard frowned and shook his head.  "Not well enough."

Finally, Lily seemed to notice her son as Harry waited with growing impatience.   She spoke without preamble.  "I have bad news, Harry."

"Is it dad?" He wasn't stupid enough to miss his father's absence, and wished that he didn't have a sinking feeling that the _he _his mum and Sirius were talking about was none other than James Potter.  Harry swallowed nervously.  Just because his father had wound up in the hospital before didn't make it any easier…

"He's in St. Mungo's," his mum confirmed quietly.  "There was an attack on the Ministry…"

Even as a shadow passed over her eyes, Sirius reached out to grip her elbow and cut her off.  "We need to get inside, Lily," he said quietly.  "Remus and the others are waiting."

"But what about dad?" Harry demanded even as his mother nodded shakily.  Oddly enough, it was Peter who answered.

"I was just at St. Mungo's with him, Harry," the short man said quietly.  "They're certain he'll live, but right now…right now he can't walk.  And they're not sure how to fix what's wrong."

Harry felt his stomach drop down to the ground.  "He can't walk?"

"We don't know if it's permanent," Sirius interjected, and for the first time, Harry noticed the deep lines around his eyes.  "The healers are still working."

"Oh."

There was so much more that he wanted to ask, but something in Sirius' face stopped Harry from doing so.  The exhausted expression his mother wore only added to Harry's worry, though, and while he knew that now wasn't the time to ask questions, he vowed to do so later.  He wasn't ignorant, after all, and it was his father in the hospital.  If anyone deserved to know, Harry figured that it was him.

He had no idea, however, how complicated things were about to become.

---------------

It was the first time that the entire Order of the Phoenix had assembled since the early days of the war against Voldemort.  As the years passed, the Order had become first too large, and then too secret, to gather in one place; time had allowed the Dark Lord to worm spies into their midst even as the Order worked their own into his presence.  They had not been able to risk coming together before, but at this moment, there seemed much more to lose by not doing so.  Spies or no spies, they had to act.

Scarcely eight hours had passed since the attack on the Ministry, and the Order of the Phoenix gathered in Hogwarts' Great Hall.  The school was the one unbreachable place left to them; with the fall of the Ministry, nowhere else was safe.  Thus, fearful faces stared at one another, clueless and hopeless.  All were acutely aware of the absence of the Order's one constant: Albus Dumbledore.  None, however, could imagine an Order of the Phoenix existing without the legendary wizard's guidance or strength.  They needed him, now, but he was not there.  Few, therefore, expected such a slender and brown haired wizard to step forward and take his place.  At merely thirty-two years old, Remus Lupin was entirely too young.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," he said quietly, swallowing almost imperceptivity.  "By now, I'm certain you have all heard the rumors."

"Late this afternoon, the Ministry of Magic was attacked by Lord Voldemort and his followers.  We do not know now how many people died in this assault, but we know that many witches, wizards, and Muggles did, slain by both Death Eaters and Dementors.  Right now, the Muggle news is calling it a terrorist attack.  They have no explanation for the soulless wandering the streets of London.

"We do know, however, that Albus Dumbledore and Arabella Figg are amongst the dead.  So are many of the Ministry's Department heads.  The only two we have been able to contact are Cornelius Fudge, the head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes, who was on vacation with his family; and James Potter, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, who is currently being treated in St. Mungo's.  As of right now, our government is all but nonexistent."

Remus paused and took a deep breath; Sirius could see the exhaustion on his face and noticed both Snape and Fletcher watching him closely.  Remus hadn't been able to explain much about what had happened earlier—there simply hadn't been time, but Sirius knew that he'd had a vision and collapsed.  What had frightened them both the most, though, was that Remus had _seen _the Ministry crumble, and had known that Dumbledore was dead the moment that Fawkes had arrived.  Almost as worrisome was the fact that the phoenix had come to Hogwarts—to _Remus_—and both understood what that signified.

"And so it falls to the Order of the Phoenix to carry the war," the headmaster continued quietly.  "Until the Ministry can be reformed, we are all that is left.  After conferring with the Inner Circle, I will assume leadership of the Order."  His eyes swept across the gathered crowd.  "Unless there are any who think I should not."

Silence greeted his words.  Few in the Order knew about the Font, but they could recognize that Remus had changed.  The difference was obvious, even to uneducated eyes; and when Fawkes floated gracefully down to land on Remus' shoulder, the decision was clinched.  The phoenix had chosen Remus J. Lupin.  The mysterious and unknown Inner Circle had concurred.  The Order would follow.

"Thank you."  Remus' quiet voice echoed in the stillness, and then he turned slightly and nodded to Sirius.  After a deep breath, he stepped forward, struggling to keep a frown off of his face.  _I hate this_, he thought acidly.  _I hate the way their eyes are following me, hoping that I've got the answers just because I was stupid enough to face Voldemort and survive._  _These people are supposed to know better.  He resisted the need to swallow.  There were too many faces missing in the crowd, from the presumed dead to those who hospitalized like James and Alice Longbottom.  And like so many of his Aurors._

"In James' absence, I have taken command of the Aurors.  Although we lost several, we are probably the one Ministry division that has not been effectively decapitated by the attack.  Right now, I have Aurors guarding both surviving Department heads and as of nightfall, searching the rubble for survivors.  So far, there have been very few."

Sadness and fear reflected off nearly every face as Sirius paused to study the crowd.  Each had known what the risks were when they had joined the Order, but no one had ever expected this—even Dumbledore.  _Dumbledore.  _Sirius blinked.  Peter had told him of the old man's sudden warning, and Lily had related his last words to Voldemort—_"It is time, Tom."_  Had he known?  Could he have?  Sirius shivered suddenly, thinking of the darkness that must have lived in that old man's mind, and hoping that he had finally found peace.  _If he knew, why did he do it?  Why did he choose to die?_

That was the sad and sorry truth: Dumbledore could have lived.  He could have escaped.  Instead, he chose to die.  _It was time?_  He sacrificed himself for others, yet Sirius knew that the old wizard had been too smart to do so if he was still needed…which meant Dumbledore had believed that they would not need him.  Sirius swallowed back the bitter laughter that threatened to rise without warning.  _What did he accomplish, aside from leaving us leaderless and rudderless in a storm?_  There had to be more.  Dumbledore never did anything without a reason.  Sirius just couldn't see it yet.

"I have asked you to come here today not to make you lose hope," Remus finally continued, "but to help you understand what the Order will be called upon to do this summer.  Voldemort has won a victory, but he has not yet won the war, and if we stand together, we will survive."

---------------

Dawn found a skeletal form of the Inner Circle meeting in Remus' office.  All five of them had been awake all night long, and Lily looked the worst off.  Dumbledore's death was hitting her hard, Remus knew; in truth, the old man's absence was felt by them all, especially Severus.  Remus understood that his deputy headmaster had always felt a special kinship with the old headmaster; Dumbledore had been the one who had accepted him, trusted him—he'd given Snape a second chance.  Remus swallowed.  He'd given so many people chances…and had so often denied them to himself.  There wasn't one of them in that room who didn't owe Dumbledore something.

Fawkes, in the corner, was still mourning silently, setting a heavy and sorrowful tone for their meeting.  Finally, when Remus could stand the silence no longer, he cleared his throat.  He began hesitantly, "I'm sorry to keep all of you up so late."

"I doubt any of us would have slept anyway," Severus commented dryly.  Dung's answering snort revealed his agreement, and Lily just stared at her hands, overwrought and exhaustedly nodding.

"Tonight's not a night for sleep, anyway," Sirius agreed from where he stood staring out the window.  "There are too many unanswered questions."

Fletcher nodded tiredly.  "I agree."

"What worries me," Lily finally put in quietly, "is that you, Severus, did not know about the attack ahead of time.  That seems to imply a certain lack of trust on Voldemort's part."

Snape snorted.  "You mean that he suspects me," he replied bluntly.  "There is no use tiptoeing around the truth."

"Well, yes."  Lily shrugged apologetically.

"But why?  Or how?" Fletcher wondered.

"It could be any of a hundred reasons," the Death Eater responded.  "Or it was simply—possibly, but unlikely—an oversight on the Dark Lord's part."

"And if he knows you're a spy?" Remus asked quietly.

"I suppose I'll find out if I live through the next time he summons me."  Severus' voice was dry, but the headmaster could see the worry behind his dark eyes.  They were playing a very high-stakes game, Remus knew, and any wrong move could very well mean death.

"That's not very comforting," Lily replied.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"We've got other problems, too," Sirius suddenly interjected, making Remus frown.

"What?" he asked.

"When I talked to Fudge earlier, he very specifically asked me who was in the running to be the next Minister of Magic," the Auror replied grimly.  "I told him that now wasn't the time to worry about that and got my head out of the fire as quickly as humanly possible.  But he's very interested."

"Oh, lovely," Lily muttered.

 Fletcher snarled with distaste.  "Fudge is the most ambitious windbag I've ever met.  If he gets the job, we might as well surrender now!"

"Which is precisely why Malfoy and every other influential Death Eater will be supporting him every step of the way," Snape reminded them, earning angry glares in return for his comment.  Before anyone could lose their temper, though, Remus intervened.

"And that is why we simply can't allow that to happen," he replied far more calmly than he felt.  "Therefore, we need to advance a candidate of our own—preferably one who is in the Order."

"It makes the list short, Remus," Dung remarked.  "Especially if you want someone in the Inner Circle."

"Unless we can get Lily to do it," Sirius suddenly said with a wan smile, making her head jerk up and her voice squeak.

"Me?"

Remus felt a smile tug at the corners of his own mouth; Sirius had read his mind.  "Who else?" he asked.  "You probably know more about that job than the rest of us combined.  How long were you Dumbledore's assistant?  Eight years?"

"That's not the point," Lily objected.  "I'm not a politician.  I've never even held office—"

"Neither had Dumbledore."

"That, Remus, is just a little different."  Lily's green eyes were finally awake now, though, as she turned to stare at each of them in turn.  "Look, I'm touched by your confidence, but I work behind the scenes, remember?  I'm officially a secretary, nothing more—and I can't give people the confidence that you're going to need them to have."  She swallowed.  "You need someone a lot better known than me for that."

Remus started to open his mouth to reply, but was cut of, much to his surprise, by Severus.  "What about James?"

"What?"

The response had been instinctive, but after a moment, the idea began to grow on Remus.  _James_.  He would have never thought of his friend, but James _was _well known, and he was strong enough to do what had to be done.  So much of the Wizarding world considered James a hero; he'd led the Aurors for many years, and had somehow managed to survive it all, even Voldemort's spirited crusade to end his life.  Furthermore, he was smart, powerful, and a member of the Inner Circle.  James met every criteria that Remus could think of for an ideal Minister of Magic, and he already was a department head, so he could meet Fudge head on.

"You know," Lily said quietly, her face a study in concentration, "that just might work."

"It would be the perfect solution, too," Dung mused.  "I mean, we can't exactly get Remus in there, so… No offense."  Remus just shrugged in response to Fletcher's apologetic look, understanding that his condition barred the Order from having its head as the Minister of Magic again.  Besides, he would never have wanted to leave Hogwarts, even if such a thing had been possible.  It was almost a relief not to have to worry about two new kinds of responsibility.

"Wait a minute," Sirius interrupted, turning away from the window and leaning on the wall tiredly.  His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets and his face was still bruised slightly—he hadn't bothered to get it fixed yet—but his voice was grim and pointed.  "We ought to ask James before we start planning anything."

Severus gave him a tired glare that wasn't nearly up to his normal standards.  "Of course we will," he retorted, rolling his eyes.  "However, I believe the question at hand is if the idea will _work _or not.  If Fudge can get in early enough and start gaining support, this entire conversation will have been for no purpose whatsoever."

"Won't happen."  Sirius smiled tiredly, and they all looked at him.  Remus felt his own eyebrows rise doubtfully—his friend didn't really know Fudge all that well, and had no idea how ambitious the politician could be—but was that a mischievous glint in Sirius' eyes?  He knew something, and Remus opened his mouth to ask what, but his deputy headmaster beat him to it.

"Forgive me for saying that the rest of us don't necessarily share your confidence," Severus remarked dryly.

"Fudge won't be a problem.  At least not for awhile, anyway."

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face, then, and tell us why," Lily demanded testily.  Remus snorted, but Sirius finally grinned.

"I assigned Hestia Jones to protect him."

Remus couldn't help it; he burst out laughing.  After a moment, so did Lily, who tried to hide her sudden amusement behind a strangled cough, but both Dung and Severus only stared at the three of them crossly as Sirius chuckled tiredly and explained.

"Hestia isn't exactly the forgiving sort," he smirked.  "Under _her_ watchful eyes, Fudge is not going to be making any public appearances, speeches for the 'good' of the Wizarding world, or acting on 'behalf' of the government in _any _way.  He'll stay on vacation, nice and safe, where he belongs."

Dung snorted.  "Excellent.  Serves the bugger right."

"Indeed."  For once, even Snape had to agree with Sirius, and the thought of that happening ever again made Remus smile.  But the amusement instantly vanished with his next thought.  _The world has indeed turned upside down_, the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix thought grimly.

_Now we've just got to figure out how to turn it all right side up again._

---------------

"We talked to Lee today," Fred said suddenly, startling the others out of their silence.

Harry looked up.  To his right, Ron and Ginny (who had arrived with her parents the evening before) were attempting to concentrate on a game of Wizard's chess—and failing miserably.  Even the normally obnoxious Weasley family chess pieces were more subdued than usual; it seemed that they sensed the mood prevalent in the Gryffindor common room.  Not far away, Neville was reading a book on Herbology, but Harry could swear that the other boy hadn't turned a page in over an hour.  Fred and George both sat to Harry's left, exchanging glances from time to time, but otherwise silent.  The two of them had originally been playing a game of Exploding Snap with Harry, but the game had somehow petered off, leaving them with the soulless and stony silence.

Percy, of course, was in the library, having called the younger Gryffindors immature and stormed out thirty minutes before.  But they didn't mind.  Even with the school year officially over, he still had a habit of acting like a prefect, and he kept harping on them to do something useful, though what he meant they were not yet sure.  It was, after all, only the beginning of summer, and the younger children were having a hard enough time trying to figure out how to waste the rest of the afternoon.

Gryffindor tower seemed so empty without their classmates, so empty and so _dead_.  Their excitement over the Order of the Phoenix's arrival had faded; all six children had quickly been informed that they were "far too young" to attend those meetings and would have to find a way to occupy themselves.  Even Harry's mum, who was usually much more open and informative than Mrs. Weasley, maintained an unexpected silence and refused to answer more than the most basic of questions.  Harry had tried valiantly to worm information out of his mother, but they had eventually been sent packing, and in times like this, mischief wasn't much fun.  The castle was too quiet, and there were too many adults around—but it wasn't an occasion for jokes, anyway.  So they found themselves alone in the dorm, wishing futilely Neville and Ginny weren't present; otherwise, the Misfits would have indulged themselves by at least studying a very singular map that the twins still had in their possession.  Unfortunately, even if had considered letting Ginny in on the secret, and none of them wanted to leave Neville alone to do so.  So alone they sat, waiting and wondering.

"Mum let us Fire Call him," George explained.  "He's doing all right.  He got home last night."

"Sorry we didn't tell you earlier," Fred apologized.  "Mum was kind of batty about letting us use the fire at all.  Kept going on about secrecy and such."

"Is he going to be able to come back?" Harry asked quietly.

Lee's mother was a Muggle, as they all knew, and ever since his father's death, Reina Jordan had been hinting that she might not allow Lee to return to Hogwarts for his fourth year.  Lee had screamed protest, but his mother was understandably afraid.  She'd all ready lost her husband to Death Eaters, and knew that Lee, as the Half-blood son of an Auror, was now in extraordinary danger.  To her mind, the best was to protect him was to withdraw entirely from the Wizarding world, no matter how much magic meant to Lee.

Just thinking about that left a great gaping feeling inside all of the Misfits.

"He doesn't know yet," George answered after a moment, frowning worriedly.  "Professor Fletcher talked to Mrs. Jordan and Lee said his mum is thinking about it."

"What if he can't?" Ron asked suddenly, his voice very small.

"Mrs. Jordan can't just not let him come back, can she?" Ginny demanded unhappily when no one had an answer for Ron's question.  "I mean, doesn't she understand that his magic won't go away no matter what she does?"

"She's a Muggle, Gin.  She doesn't get it," Fred replied bitterly.

"That's crap," Ron snarled.

George shot to his feet suddenly, growling impatiently under his breath and storming out of the room.  His voice came out angry and clipped from over his shoulder.  "Welcome to the world, little brother.  Nothing's fair anymore."

---------------

Long after midnight, Bill Weasley spotted a tall figure wandering across the Hogwarts grounds.  Sitting underneath the castle's shadow, Bill was all but invisible, and he watched curiously as the other wizard paused at the lake's edge, staring down at the still waters, seemingly deep in thought.  When the other moved again, though, the slight limp he walked with gave his identity away immediately.  Although he did not know him well, Bill knew that Sirius Black never allowed the limp to show; one could only notice it when the famous Auror wasn't paying attention.  When he thought he was alone.

His slow walk was aimless and drifting; clearly, Black's mind was elsewhere.  Watching him almost made Bill feel guilty because he felt like he was intruding upon something that wasn't meant for his eyes.  But before he could find something different to concentrate on, Black unexpectedly turned his way and walked towards him, the limp now completely gone.  Even in the darkness, Bill could see the uncannily light blue eyes focus on him, and he shivered, remembering seeing this man step, very calmly, around a corner and face Lord Voldemort himself.

He'd never really spoken to him, had never really gotten the chance, even though he'd always wanted to.  Bill started to rise, which seemed to be the least that he could do, but Black waved him back down

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly.

"No."  Coming from anyone else, Bill would have given the question an evasive answer, but if there was a man who knew what he'd gone through, it was Sirius Black.  _How he survived a decade in the Dark Lord's hands, I will never understand, _the Auror thought to himself.  _Nor will I ever ask._

"Mind if I join you?" Black gestured casually at the spot of grass to Bill's right.

"Not at all."

Bill watched out of the corner of his eye as the other Auror lowered himself to the ground.  There was an odd amount of caution in Black's movements; one moment, he seemed to favor the game right leg, and the next he possessed an unconscious grace that couldn't be faked or calculated.  However, Bill's unintentional study revealed much more than he'd initially expected to find.  In the moonlight, Black's small and subtle scars were harder to miss; obviously, he'd been expertly healed, yet like Bill's inner demons, the outer marks of Black's time in hell seemed like they would never fade.  There was a very faint scar that ran from the top of his left ear around and under the bottom of his chin; Bill looked away before he could start to stare in an effort to solve that puzzle.  Doing so, however, brought his attention to the faded marks still evident on both of Black's arms.

"How do you do it?" Bill asked suddenly and without meaning to, tearing his eyes away from something that he felt was none of his business.  "How do you deal with everything?"

Black's head turned slowly to face him.  "Silencing Charms, mostly."

"You mean—" Bill blinked.

"The nightmares don't go away, kid," the other said quietly, sighing and staring off into the distance once more.  "You just learn to deal with them… Or maybe yours will.  I hope they do, for your sake.  But if they don't…" He shrugged.  "I can't say it gets better, but it does get simpler, if you know what I mean."

"I can't imagine becoming used to the nightmares," Bill said.

"Nor I."

They sat in silence for a long time, but it was somehow a comforting quiet.  Ever since his rescue from Azkaban, Bill had felt as if he was alone.  There were few that could understand the horrors that haunted his dreams, and ever fewer still knew how to help.  His parents had tried, of course, but Bill had found himself oddly reluctant to speak of his experiences with them.  For the first time in his life, even the comfort of his loving family was not enough, because a darkness lived inside of him that they could not touch.   Before the attack, the Ministry had also offered help, but Bill, like all his fellow prisoners, had declined.  He didn't need healers poking around in his head, trying to find solutions that might not exist.  In many ways, he feared that they would call him insane.

"You were there for so long," he whispered, staring into the darkness.  "How did you hang on without doubting yourself at every turn?  You faced him…I can't even dream of doing that.  And the world thinks you're fine.  Everyone always talks about how strong you are, and yet…how can you do that if you feel how I feel?"

Black snorted.  "I still wake up in the middle of the night, when I sleep at all," he admitted.  "It's all a matter of perception—and of choice.  I choose to be what I am.  No one else can do that for me."

"I wish it was so simple for me," Bill replied wistfully.

"Isn't it?"

"I just don't think I'm that strong."

Black finally turned to look at him again, arching one eyebrow quizzically.  "Your vacation's almost over," he said unexpectedly.  "What do you plan on doing when it is?"

Bill blinked.  "I'll come back to the Aurors, if they'll take me."

"And why is that?"

"What else would I do?" It was hard not to stare at the older man strangely; Bill could hardly see the point to this line of questioning.

"You could run," the other said quietly.  His pale gaze burned into Bill's.  "You could try to hide.  No one would blame you if you chose another route."   

"But—"

"Yet you choose not to," Black overrode him easily.  "Tell me why."

"Because I want to do my part," Bill answered with a frown.  "The war is more important than how _I _feel."

Black chucked softly.   "And you said you didn't understand why I do what I do."

"I—yeah," he breathed.  "I guess.  But I just wish I knew how to get _past _it."  Anyone who hadn't been in Azkaban could not have possibly comprehended all the layers contained in that simple word, but Black's understanding nod said that he did.  The nightmares weren't just about torture.  They weren't just caused by the constant presence of Dementors and having to relive his worst memories over and over again.  The feelings of loneliness and hopelessness were far longer lasting than any obvious effects of Voldemort's hell; there was the feeling of cold that crept up on you in the middle of the night without warning and there was always the sudden realization that you could not fight back… Bill shivered, even though it was a warm night.

"You've got family who cares for you," the older wizard said quietly.  "Take advantage of their love.  They'll listen, if you let them."

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Black shook his head.  

"They can't ever understand, not completely, but you need them.  When it's dark, and you're alone, it's not determination that pulls you through...You need something stronger and deeper, a feeling that doesn't just come from yourself."  Suddenly, Black looked away, and his next words were distant.  "Letting down your shields is hard, but sometimes you have to…even when it kills you to do so."

"I thought…"

"Silencing Charms don't work with my friends."  Black smiled wanly.  

"Oh," was all Bill could say as the other's words rattled around in his head.  For a moment, he was tempted to argue, especially considering Black's earlier comment, but then he remembered, almost irrelevantly, back to his own Hogwarts years.  As a first year Gryffindor, he remembered seeing four boys, impossibly different and yet incredibly close, and recalled how they always seemed to understand one another.  Those four boys were now adults, of course, and famous ones who Bill rarely saw together, but there was something in Black's voice that told him they was still much more than met the eye.

"Trust your family, Bill," Black said quietly.  "In times like this, they're all you have."

---------------


	3. Chapter 3: Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

Second Author's Note:  If you haven't read my new story, _Forget Me Not: A Story of Broken Promises_, please check it out.  Events in _Forget Me Not _have later (slight) significance in this universe.  Click on my user name to access all my stories.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Three: Slytherin vs. Gryffindor

"I expected Sirius to bring me," Harry said quietly, hoping the words didn't come out wrong.  After all, he would have thought that Hogwarts needed its headmaster, now more than ever.  But Remus only smiled.

"Sirius is about as testy as humanly possible right now, Harry," he replied.  "He and you're dad would only wind up yelling at one another and get in some pointless fight." Remus shrugged.  "Besides, I drew the short straw."

"The what?"

The headmaster chuckled slightly.  "Never mind.  It's a Muggle thing; I doubt you've heard of it.  Needless to say, though, I'm the one who got stuck with the job of bringing your dad bad news."

"What bad news?" Harry asked carefully, not liking the sound of that at all.

But his father's old friend didn't answer as they made their way into St. Mungo's, bypassing the witch at the information desk and moving along in silence.  Harry's confused look seemed to wash over Remus without any effect, and finally he sighed, knowing that he'd find out soon enough.  However, keeping his frustration inside was difficult, and part of Harry desperately wanted to explode.  Every since his mother had shown up at Hogwarts the day before, he had only come up with more questions in response to the answers no one would give him.  The Order had met, he knew, but why he did not know.  Dumbledore and Arabella Figg were both dead, as were countless others—but beyond that, he knew almost nothing.

Breakfast that morning had proved very interesting with almost all of the Order present, and all their children still around.  Hogwarts had become half madhouse, half meeting at that point, and Harry had never been around a group of _adults _who were so frightened.  No one said so, of course, but the tension in the air was thick and everyone was jumpy.  The attack on the Ministry had been completely unexpected, and its consequences, Harry felt, would linger for far longer than the summer could last.

"So where is Sirius, anyway?" he finally asked.

"At the Ministry.  He and the Aurors are still searching for survivors."  Remus led Harry around a corner and down another hallway.  "He was there for most of yesterday and almost all night."

"Oh."  Harry swallowed.  "Things are getting bad, aren't they?"

Remus turned to look him in the eye, surprising Harry with how calm he looked.  "Yes, they are," he replied evenly.  "But I wouldn't exactly say everything is lost.  Not yet."

"Some of the parents are saying that we ought to just surrender now," Harry said quietly.

The comment made Remus' head whip around; his deep blue eyes were suddenly sharp.  There was that same strength in him that Harry had only seen once before, the same implacability that had frightened Malfoy so much.  Suddenly, the headmaster seemed _dangerous_.  His voice was very soft, very controlled.  "Who said that, Harry?"

"I'm not sure, really…it's just something that Fred said he overheard," he answered hesitantly.  After all, Harry hadn't felt that the remarks were such a big deal, and he had no idea who had uttered them—but Remus seemed to take that lack of confidence very seriously—too seriously.

"Ah."  The strange look passed, and suddenly Harry was standing next to the Remus Lupin he'd known for all of his life.  "Well, we're here, anyway."

They had stopped before a nondescript door on the Fourth Floor; there were two Aurors outside it, but they let Harry and Remus pass without argument.  Harry knew that his mother had spent most of the early morning at the hospital; finally, Peter, who seemed to have stayed the night, had dragged her back to Hogwarts and forced her to go to bed.  Harry had struggled not to bombard her with questions, and had been rewarded by Remus' offer to take him to the hospital.  He hadn't expected it, but Harry had jumped at the chance.  Being left in the dark was threatening to drive him crazy.

But when they stepped inside his father's private room, Harry almost began to wish they hadn't come.  Although he'd visited his father in the hospital before (once, in fact, had been earlier that year), Harry had never seen him look so terrible.  Livid bruises covered his father's face, and he looked _small _against the sheets…despite having been warned about his dad's condition, Harry felt shocked.  His father's legs were limp and lifeless underneath the covers; it was very clear that the healers had yet to find a solution to James Potter's sudden paralysis.

"Moony!  Harry!"  Still, though, the same smile split his father's face.  "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't Lily tell you we were coming?"

"Well, she said someone would bring Harry by, but I was expecting you to stay at Hogwarts."  He and Remus exchanged a significant look, then Harry's father turned to him with a smile.  "Don't worry.  It's not as bad as it looks."

"Peter said you can't walk," he answered in a tiny voice.

His dad hesitated slightly.  "Well…not yet," he admitted.  "But I'll be okay.  The healers are just having some problems figuring out how to fix everything."

"But shouldn't it be simple?" Harry asked. "I mean, if it's your back that's broken, can't they just _heal _it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Remus frowning.

"That's what I would have thought," his father replied with a shrug.  "But I guess it's a bit more complicated than that.  Right now, I can't feel anything below my waist…but that'll change, Harry.  Don't worry."

Harry bit his lip.  "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."  A larger hand reached out to take his own as he sat down on the bed, and Harry struggled to bit back tears that wanted to rise.  He was eleven years old, and that was much too old to cry.   Harry tried to smile, and failed miserably.  His father squeezed his hand.  "Everything will be all right."

"Okay."  He nodded, unsure of what else to do—but his father seemed so certain of it, and Harry had to trust that.  He didn't want to know what would happen if he couldn't.

"So what brings you here, Remus?" His father asked lightly, obviously changing the subject for Harry's sake.  

"I bring news," the headmaster replied.  "Both good and bad.  Which do you want first?"

"Give me the bad first," was the immediate response.  "I don't think today can get much worse, anyway."

Remus snorted.  "Just you wait."

"Oh, now I'm feeling real warm and squishy inside.  Just spit it out, Moony."

"Well, the bad news is that Fudge is already angling to be the next Minister of Magic."

It was a very good thing that Harry's mum wasn't there, because she definitely wouldn't have liked the words that came out of her husband's mouth in response to that announcement.  The look on Remus' face, however, said that he tended to agree with James' rather foul way of stating his opinion, and he did not object at all to the torrent of foul language.  For his part, Harry only sat on the bed and listened; he didn't know Cornelius Fudge all that well, but he knew enough to know that the head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes was _very _political, and about the worst leader that the Magical world could ever have.  That, and even his mother hated Fudge with a passion, which said a great deal.

Remus waited for Harry's father to stop cursing before he continued.  "The good news is that we think we've found someone who stands a chance against him."

"That's a relief.  Who is it?"

"You."

Harry had never seen such a slack-jawed and shocked expression color his father's face, and in any other circumstances, it would have been funny.  Right then, though, it was only startling—Remus couldn't possibly be serious.  His _dad _as the Minister of Magic?  The entire idea was insane!  

After a long moment of unintelligible stuttering, it seemed that James Potter most definitely agreed with his son's silent assessment.  He blinked several times, and his mouth clicked open and shut repeatedly before he seemed to gain control of it and simply stare at his friend.  The expression he wore, though, was anything but friendly, and Harry felt certain that if looks could kill, Remus Lupin would be at least fairly well scorched by that one.  Finally, Harry's dad managed to form coherent words.

"That's a very sorry joke, mate."

Those steady blue eyes never wavered.  "I'm not joking, James."

"You'd better be," Harry's father replied darkly, glaring.

Remus just stared.

Harry's father glared back.

The headmaster arched one slender eyebrow, very calmly and seemingly waiting for the inevitable explosion.  It didn't take long in coming.

"No."

"No?" Remus echoed innocently.

"_No_," James Potter spat.  "No, as in there is no way in _hell_ that I'm going to take that job.  Never.  Not-over-my-dead-body-_never_.  It's not going to happen.  Not in a million years."

"Ah.  I see."

"Remus!"

"So then, tell me, James, who you would recommend," the headmaster responded pleasantly.  "I'm certain that you know someone who is both powerful and well-known enough to take on Fudge's candidacy and win.  Mind you, this person _also _needs to be a member of the Order—preferably in the Inner Circle, which, as I might remind you, has grown rather small as of late."  Remus' smile disappeared.  "But I'm sure that there is someone who fits all those requirements.  Other than you."

Harry's father glowered.

"We need you, James," Remus continued in that relentlessly gentle voice.  "We need someone who can give people confidence, who they can trust.  We need someone who has proven, time and again, that they are not afraid to do what has to be done.  We need you."

His father blinked, and Harry watched the anger fade slowly from his face.  After a moment, he bit his lip, chewing on it thoughtfully, although he still glared unhappily at Remus.  Neither spoke for a long while; they only stared at one another as if to see who would break first.  Finally, it was James who looked away.

"Make Sirius to it," he grumbled.

A slight smile creased Remus' features.  "Will you, then?" he asked quietly. "It's your choice, James."

"Yeah," Harry's dad snorted.  "Sure it is."  He rolled his eyes.  "You're playing dirty, you realize.  Very dirty.  It's unbecoming, Remus.  I expected better from you." 

"Must be the company I keep."

James mumbled something under his breath that made the headmaster smile.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I said yes, you bloody bastard!" Harry's father snapped, glaring.  But there was no anger in his voice, now.  "Damn you!"

"Language, James," Remus chided him, chuckling.  "There are children in the room."

Harry laughed as his father shrugged and replied nonchalantly, "He's heard worse."

"Yes, but _Lily_ hasn't…"

"You tell her, Moony, and I'll never speak to you again!"

Remus laughed harder at that one.  "Sure you won't."

"You—"

Both Harry and Remus seemed to get the exact same thought at the same time; grinning, each had lifted their wand to bring pillows crashing down on James' head.  However, twice the magic went into the effort, and all of a sudden, it was raining feathers, and all three of them were laughing.  Somehow, when with his family, it was easier to forget the dark world outside; for those few moments, Harry could forget the darkness that lurked around corners and haunted their every step.   

---------------

"Severus…" the low voice hissed, and Snape had to resist the urge to shudder.  Even after so long, it was hard to keep his voice even.

"My Lord."

The only good thing was that they were alone.  Even Malfoy wasn't present, which in itself was odd, but Severus figured that if he had been uncovered, and he was about to die, the Dark Lord wouldn't be satisfied with killing him in private.  No, a traitor's death was a spectacle, a lesson for others to learn from—not something to be accomplished quietly or in the shadows.  Not where Voldemort was concerned.  Severus supposed that a Muggle might call the Dark Lord a master showman, and immediately wondered where such an irrelevant thought came from.

He had to fight down the urge to scowl.  Such mundane thoughts were unworthy of a Slytherin, and proved that he'd been spending far too much time around foolish and Muggle-loving Gryffindors—_Dumbledore._  The thought caught him completely unaware and threatened to shatter his control.  Suddenly, he felt cold inside.  _Albus was a Gryffindor._  Only years of experience of locking his soul away kept Severus from snapping immediately—but the fury he felt was no less real because it was hidden.  _You bastard_, he thought behind an emotionless facade.  He'd tried to force himself to forget, and then had tried to move past the pain when that had failed—but there was no hope in doing either.  Voldemort had killed Dumbledore.

He'd wept once, in private and where no one could see him.  If asked, he'd deny it.  Snape would never admit shedding tears for the old man, even to those who would understand—and when he was feeling honest with himself, he would admit that there were a few who would.  But Severus Snape did not cry.  No longer, and not any more—not for over thirty long years had he shed a tear.  Until finding out the truth.

Albus was dead, and everything had changed.

Remus had been right about that, he knew.  Nothing would ever be the same again.  Unfortunately, though, too much also remained the same…so there he was, kneeling before the Dark Lord once more, praying to whatever deity would listen that he hadn't been uncovered as a traitor.  For the first time in his life, Severus found himself agreeing with Sirius Black; there was almost no other reason that he would not have known of the attack on the Ministry.  Even if the Dark Lord had not expected him to attend (which only his duties at Hogwarts could be blamed for), Severus should have known about it.  After Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, he was the highest-ranking Death Eater in their Lord's circle, and it made no sense for him to have been unaware of such an important raid.  At the very least, he should have known that they were planning _something_.

Instead, nothing.  And now he was beginning to truly feel afraid.

"Rise."  The command came after an uncomfortably long moment, and despite his earlier conviction that this was not to be his execution, Snape felt uneasy.  What was going on?  But he complied without hesitation.  For a Death Eater, there was no other choice.  So, in silence he waited, feeling the dark silence grow deep until Voldemort finally spoke.

"Tell me of how Hogwarts stands."

This was not what he had expected; Snape had to take a deep breath before replying.  "Uneasy, My Lord," he said carefully.  "The phoenix's arrival was unexpected, as was Lupin's…elevation.  Many members of the Order of the Phoenix are not happy with the outcome of Dumbledore's death."

"Indeed…" 

It was the truth, though not all of it, and not quite a lie by any standards.  Yet sometimes Snape wondered if Voldemort sensed the half-truths and careful dance of danger and words.  He was not yet dead, of course, but there were moments when he doubted how much control he really had over the situation.  _How many sides am I really on here?_ Snape asked himself silently, feeling cold inside.  But he shoved his feelings away.  He was used to doing so.  Such was the price of his existence.

"Many are afraid, My Lord," he continued into the silence.  "Even as the Order of the Phoenix gathered at Hogwarts, those fears persisted.  Lupin is not Dumbledore, and Potter is gravely injured.  The combination of these factors may drive many to your side."

"And what of the staff at Hogwarts?  Will any of your _comrades_ feel so driven?"

"I do not know, My Lord."  Snape hesitated.  "Perhaps Vector or Trelaweny, but none of the others are so prone to fear.  Fletcher, especially, would sooner die."

"I did not ask for a lecture, Severus."

He bowed his head immediately at the semi-sharp rebuke.  "Forgive me, Master.  I did not mean to presume."

"Of course you did," The Dark Lord snorted.  "But unintelligent followers can only serve me in a limited capacity, and your tenacity has never surprised me.  Beware that you do not step too far, though.  My patience is _limited_."

_As I am well aware_, he thought silently, but responded dutifully: "Yes, My Lord."

The Dark Lord was silent for another moment, seemingly considering his next words.  For Snape, it was hard not to hold his breath; although Voldemort had not indicated that he thought Severus a traitor, the possibility always existed—and now more than ever.  _Take care, Severus,_ he told himself quickly.  _Act with prudence, and you may yet survive._  A funny thought, that was; almost as funny as it was careless.  Survival, he'd learned long ago, wasn't something he was likely to do.

"Lupin is becoming more of an issue than you anticipated," the cold voice finally said, making Snape scowl inwardly.  _No, Lupin is becoming more of an issue than _you _anticipated, _he thought acidly, _but you can't admit that, now, can you?_  But Voldemort continued, thankfully unable to discern the Death Eater's disobedient thoughts: "Yet with time he will undoubtedly prove himself incapable of dealing with such pressure.  Would you not agree?"

Questions didn't come much more loaded than that one.

"I believe it is possible, My Lord," Severus answered carefully.

"Good…" Voldemort said slowly, as if he was still considering the numerous possibilities inherent in the Ministry's destruction.  "Watch him.  Carefully."

His was not to reason why.  "Yes, My Lord."  

---------------

The four remaining Misfits sat in the Gryffindor third year boys' dorm, stewing in their impatience and frustration.  This was the one place where they could escape the others and speak of their secrets; Neville had taken to sitting with Ginny in the common room, and Percy would never think to enter the twins' private domain for fear of what pranks they might play on him.  The Misfits were careful not to abuse the privacy, however.  They knew that if they spent too much time together the others might start to wonder, and that could prove downright disastrous.  Especially with what they were planning.

"You are going to owe us big time after this one, little brother," Fred grumbled.  The pinched look on his twin's face echoed his brother's sentiments perfectly.  

"Do you want to know what's going on, or not?" Ron shot back.

"Well, yes, but—"

"You hate not knowing as much as we do," Harry pointed out levelly.  

"He's got a point there, Fred," George sighed.

"Unfortunately.  There's a first time for everything."

Ron reddened.  "Hey!"

But Harry had to smile a bit.  This was, in fact, Ron's first _workable _plan; every other idea for mischief making that he'd ever come up with had ended up as a dismal flop in one way or another.  He'd been basking in the glory of coming up with a practical way to uncover exactly what the Order of the Phoenix was meeting about, but Harry didn't mind.  All he cared about was finding out what was going on.

"Are you in or not?" he asked with a smirk, knowing that the twins could never turn down a challenge.

"Of course we're in," Fred replied, just as George moaned.

"Mum is going to _kill _us."

"It's worth it," Ron said decisively. 

His older brothers only rolled their eyes.  "Easy for _you _to say."

"You're not the one who's going to be on the chopping block—"

"Risking life, limb, and happiness like pliant little sacrificial lambs," George finished.

Harry groaned.  There were times when the Weasley twins could stretch the melodrama out just a little too far.  "So when do we go?" he asked.  "They're meeting now, you know."

"Yup," Fred agreed cheerfully as they all rose.  "Mum is going to kill us."

George nodded.  "Let's get the torture over with, then." 

---------------

Molly Weasley's earsplitting screech signaled Harry and Ron that all was going well.  Carefully hidden underneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak, the two boys exchanged grins.  As planned, Fred and George had clumsily attempted to eavesdrop on the Order meeting that was in progress, and had been caught by a vigilant Mrs. Weasley.  Predictably, she was now getting into stride for a real chewing out, overrunning all of the twins' protests as if they hadn't even spoken.

"I CAN'T _BELIEVE _THE PAIR OF YOU!  AS IF I HAVEN'T TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES THAT YOU AREN'T OLD ENOUGH!  THE ORDER'S BUSINESS IS NO CONCERN OF YOURS—"

Ron's grin widened as he shot Harry a thumbs up.  Fred and George had been discovered lurking around the Great Hall's main entranceway, staying just far enough in the shadows to avoid casual notice.  However, their presence in that entranceway meant that Mrs. Weasley was well clear of the side door that the professors used to gain access to the hall.  It was in that dark hallway that Harry and Ron prowled, safely underneath the Invisibility Cloak.  They'd briefly worried about what to do if the door was shut, but luck was with them, and the two boys had found it slightly ajar.  There was just enough space for both of them to peer into the Great Hall, and provided they didn't move the door, there was no way for anyone to know they were there.

Harry glanced over Ron's shoulder at the Marauder's Map, checking to make sure they were alone.  Mrs. Weasley had closed the main doors to the Great Hall, so her shouting was no longer audible from within (Harry suspected that someone else had cast a Silencing Charm to drown her out, anyway), but she was still with Fred and George on the Map.  Exchanging another victorious glance, the boys crept forward and looked out upon the Order of the Phoenix.

And what chaos that was.

Harry had no idea that the Order of the Phoenix was so big.  The long tables had been moved so that they formed a box, and the plain benches had been replaced with comfortable looking chairs that ringed the outside of the square.  Nearly every one of those seats was full, and many of them were occupied by tense but familiar faces.  He was slightly surprised to see several of the professors there: Sinistra and Vector were both present, sitting side by side with matching frowns.  Missing, rather inconspicuously, was Snape.

A pair of red haired wizards sat side by side at the closest table; there was an empty seat next to Bill and Arthur Weasley that Harry assumed belonged to Ron's mother.  Not to far from them, Harry's mum sat between Peter and a witch Harry didn't know.  

The silent and unbending Aurors sat at the farthest table, facing the pair of troublemakers.  They wore nearly identically grim expressions; dark eyes stared out from drawn faces that had seen too much.  But the Aurors maintained their silence.  As the argument raged, they simply watched, arrayed in an unbroken line to their new leader's right.  There were few of them, now; far fewer than there ought to have been, but the symbolism of the unified front the Aurors presented was not lost on Harry.  They were the wall that shielded the Wizarding World from fear.  That wall might have been cracked now, but it was not broken.  Not yet.

Watching the Aurors, Harry almost looked right over Sirius; he sat silently at the table's end, with his chin resting in weary hands.  His usually bright eyes were dull as he watched the growing debate; Harry's godfather sat listlessly and didn't even seem to be listening.  

Dead center at the left most table, Remus was the calm in the midst of the storm.  He sat gravely and composed, with Fawkes perched on the back of his chair; both headmaster and phoenix watched the others shout and argue with uncanny eyes.

It took Harry a long moment to figure out exactly what the discussion was about; everyone was speaking at once and it was hard to distinguish one angry voice from another.  However, after a few minutes of careful listening, he gathered that the disagreement was twofold: first, some were arguing over the immediate inclusion of _all _the Aurors in the Order of the Phoenix; second, others were still disagreeing over how to deal with the Ministry attack.  They were worried about fallout, public opinion, and Muggle reaction—not to mention the fact that the Aurors claimed to have found no survivors at all.  Paranoia was running high, and the absence of survivors obviously meant that the Aurors were on the other side.

Their logic didn't make much sense to Harry, but then again, he wasn't part of the problem.  He wasn't part of the solution, either, of course, but watching the adults argue, he had to wonder if a younger perspective wouldn't help.  If grown witches and wizards could think so crookedly when under stress, maybe they needed someone to set them straight.  As the arguments raged on and on, he figured that any additional input certainly couldn't _hurt._  But then again, if his mum or Mrs. Weasley had anything to say about it, Harry wouldn't become _any _part of the Order until he was old and gray and the war had already been seen to its conclusion. 

Harry resisted the urge to snarl.  _Why can't they see that the war affects us, too?  We feel the same fears and pains they do, no matter how young we are—and we _do _understand!_  He had to grit his teeth to keep the irritation and impatience inside.  _I want to be a part of this.  I don't want to be left in the dark_.

Sometimes, even his mum acted like Harry lived in a padded and comfortable world that was safe from the war.  Sometimes, he thought that she'd forgotten that he, too, felt the pain of loss and hardship.  Before this moment, Harry supposed that his parents had been right—he _hadn't _known—but now he did.  He'd known the late Deputy Minister of Magic as "Aunt Bella" since early childhood, and though he'd hardly had time to come to terms with her death, it was hard to imagine a world without his former babysitter.  He'd been so lucky in the war—Harry had never really known someone who died.  His grandparents had died before he was born, and though David and Diana Potter had been victims of Voldemort's wrath, Harry had never lost someone whom he'd grown up with and had learned to love.

Now, though, those kinds of losses seemed so much more possible.  Probable, even—the Dark Lord had moved on the offensive, and at nearly twelve years old, Harry wasn't young enough to think that everyone would survive the war. 

But thinking about life without his parents, Remus, Sirius, or Peter was unbearable.  The thought of losing Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, or Lee was painful to even consider—yet it was possible.  Anything was, now, because he could no longer be certain that they would win at all.  The high that the light side had ridden after the Azkaban Raid was completely extinguished; optimism and hope were now in short supply.  In the face of Voldemort's brilliant exhibition of power, Azkaban seemed like an aberration.  Victory no longer waited just around the corner.

_And it might not ever come if they don't stop arguing amongst themselves_, Harry thought bitterly, then turned his attention back to the Order's proceedings.

---------------

Sirius scrubbed a weary hand over his face, feeling stubble where there should have been none.  Years ago, he'd kept his hair short and had always been clean shaven, but a few years in the Aurors had slowly brought on the longer hair and goatee that he still favored.  Despite that and his own reckless personality, though, Sirius liked appearing _clean_; his goatee was always carefully trimmed and there wasn't a chance in hell that his hair would look like Snape's.  At the moment, though, that aforementioned hair was just a little greasy, and to describe it as dirty would have been an understatement.  He hadn't had time to clean himself up after the Aurors left the Ministry once and for all; instead, he'd gone to visit James and had left St. Mungo's feeling worse than he had arrived.

Nothing could be done, the healers claimed.  Repeatedly, and even when he'd shouted at them, which he now regretted.  But not having slept in three days was beginning to get at him, and the hard-won self-control that he'd gained in Azkaban had been failing him ever since Voldemort's attack on the Ministry.  Everything had happened so quickly.  It was as if the world was spinning out of control.

Sitting in the Order's current excuse for a meeting wasn't helping matters and his head was pounding in tandem with his heart.  Lily was just getting into stride now, shooting down Elphias Dodge over some stupid point or another…where they still arguing that the Aurors were really working for Voldemort?  Were they really _that _dumb?

Sirius groaned softly, glancing to where Remus and Fawkes sat silently.  _Damn Moony and his calm_, the Auror thought acidly.  _The man's a saint, I swear._  Sometimes, though, it helped to shout, and he wished Remus would start doing so.  At least then they could get on with something _constructive_.  Right now, they were only wasting time.  _Saint Moony.  Hm._

"Your argument has no logic behind it," Lily retorted coldly.  "There is no way that even _Fudge _can blame the Aurors for what happened at the Ministry.  If they were involved, they would never have lost two of their own to the Dark Lord."

"And what proof do you have of that?  For all we know, that was just—"

"Just what?" Lily counted.  "Camouflage?  Deception?"  She smiled, but it was a frosty and hard expression, even on her pretty face.  "With all due respect, Ms. Dodge, I did not see you with a wand in hand during the attack, and I feel this is a poor way for many to thank those who have so recently saved their lives." 

 "How dare you call me a coward?" Dodge snarled angrily, growing red in the face.  "I would think—"

"That's enough, Elphias," Remus suddenly interjected in his quiet voice, answering Sirius' every wish.  Almost.  _Though I could have wished for louder… _

"Headmaster—"

"No one is calling you a coward," the younger wizard said quietly, standing up with a smoothness and grace that marked him as different than he'd ever been before, especially to Sirius' practiced eye.  The Font had indeed changed him, though that was still hard to get used to.  Remus' blue eyes moved slowly around the room, focusing on those individuals who were still standing.  Several individuals on both sides of the discussion took the hint and sat down.  Others, including a red-faced Dodge, did not.  A touch of steel entered Remus' voice.  "Sit down.  Please."

Sirius noticed with delight that none of them dared make him ask again.  There was a rustling of robes and scraping of chairs as the Order members made themselves comfortable, some still glaring at others with mistrust and distaste.  Finally, after a long moment, Remus spoke once more with slight disappointment in his voice.

"I grieve to see that it has come to this."

Silence greeted his words, but the unorthodox beginning seemed to have at least gathered attention.  Finally, after a long moment of silence, Remus continued.

"I grieve that we, whom have always stood together, must now threaten each other in search of someone to blame."  His voice, quiet and disappointed though it was, seemed to impact the Order deeply, and Sirius saw several of the loudest objectors look away, somewhat ashamed.  "As I said to you three days ago, only by standing united can we survive.  The Order of the Phoenix has always been based upon trust.  I ask you to remember that trust now, and to work together.  Divided, we _will_ fall, and we have not the time for that now.

"The Aurors will remain with the Order.  In the absence of a firm government or a Minister of Magic, we are all that there is.  Therefore, it only makes sense for us to work with those most suited to repelling the Death Eaters that will come against us."

Several mouths opened to protest, but Remus continued in a hard voice.

"The discussion has ended."

Sirius snuck a glance around the room as silence greeted his friend's words.  From the calm expression on Remus' face, one would never guess the pressure he was under or how the weight of the Order was beginning to grate on him.  Unless you knew how to spot the slight lines around his eyes, or how to see the minor twitch of the thumb on his right hand that meant he was irritated, he seemed perfectly cool and unnaturally composed.  Others were staring at him in surprise and some newfound respect—the Order might have decided to follow him, but in many eyes, Remus would never fill Dumbledore's shoes.

Today, though, he was beginning to prove that he didn't have to.  Remus Lupin was his own man, singularly unique and strong.  Many thought him docile because he chose not to speak unless he had something important to say.  They misinterpreted quietness as weakness.  _Oops._

"Next order of business, then," the headmaster continued briskly.  "Peter, how are preliminary contacts with the rest of Europe going?"

Their short friend stood clumsily, still as uneasy as ever before a crowd.  "Not very good," he admitted shakily.  "No one wants to deal with me until we have a new government in place."

After the death of his superior, Peter was the de-facto head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  However, despite how many years he'd spent on diplomatic trips and in tense negotiations, Peter Pettigrew would never have the type of forceful personality that would make other Magical governments stand up and listen.  Peter took a deep breath.

"I also think that they're beginning to see You-Kno—Voldemort—as our problem," he added quietly.  "No one else wants to be involved.  They seem to hope that he'll just go away if they ignore him long enough."

Angry grunts and snarls sounded from almost every seat, but no one spoke up as Remus nodded.  "Thank you."

Peter sat down with visible relief, and Sirius spared a moment to give him a thumbs up.  Poor Wormtail had always _hated _crowds and tests—putting him under pressure had always been a sure way to send Peter into pieces, but he did seem to be getting better.  After all, he'd saved James' life at the Ministry, and hadn't cracked up then.  Perhaps there was something to be said for time and the changes it made in men.

Peter's grateful smile helped cure a little bit of Sirius' headache.  Friends, he'd long ago realized, were more important than anything else in the world.

But Remus was saying his name, and Sirius stood slowly, wishing that exhaustion didn't make his bones weigh so much and emphasize every lasting ache and pain.  After rearranging his dirty robes in order to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts, Sirius cleared his throat and began to speak.

"As you all know, three days worth of searching revealed that there are no survivors of Voldemort's attack on the Ministry of Magic.  We had several run-ins with Muggle law enforcement and ended up performing countless memory charms on them to protect our purposes and identities, but there are still many Muggles out there who know that something went wrong. Currently, their press believes that the Ministry's explosion was part of what they call a terrorist attack, but sooner or later they're going to wise up.

"Regardless, that isn't the biggest of our problems.  What we have to do is strike back, and do so quickly, lest—"

Sirius had been prepared for the objections, but hadn't expected them to come at such a massive volume.  It seemed as if every mouth in the room had opened and screamed caution at him.  Trying not to sigh, he met Remus' eyes and watched his friend shrug imperceptivity.   

It was going to be a long, long, afternoon.

---------------


	4. Chapter 4: Always the Choices

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Four: Always the Choices

The Order had finally left Hogwarts, trailing out in ones and twos, and usually collecting their children along the way.  Remus saw them all off, speaking quiet words of thanks to each and usually receiving a smile, or at least an attempt to do so, in return.  A few of the older members of the Order, however, shot him suspicious and even bitter looks when they thought he wasn't watching, and Remus wished that he could say that it hadn't surprised him.

The entire Order of the Phoenix hadn't met for years.  Dumbledore had kept the Order running smoothly and efficiently, but always in semi-secrecy.  Most of the members hadn't even been aware of who the others were, unless they were members of one of the various groups Dumbledore had formed to deal with specific problems.  Only the Inner Circle had known all the workings of the Order, and even then, Dumbledore dealt with many matters himself.  Remus was still feeling his way into his new leadership position, and every time he turned around, the headmaster found something new that Dumbledore had never mentioned.  The fact that he'd _had to gather the Order immediately didn't help; on one hand, Remus was floundering around in ways that he knew a leader never should do, but on the other, the Order was frightened, and if Voldemort was going to break them, now would be the time.  So he'd had to act, had to get the truth out, and _fast_._

Now, however, he wasn't sure if that had been such a great idea.  On the surface, everything had gone quite well…but underneath, he could feel the discontent swirling.  And growing. 

He shook his head to force the worries away, and suddenly noticed Dung watching him.   They were alone in the Great Hall, now; Sirius was off meeting with the Aurors in private and Lily, Peter and Harry had gone to visit James once more.  The Weasleys had been the last to leave, for which Remus was grateful; it wasn't that he didn't like the entire family, but he needed to get away from people who depended upon him to act like the secure and confident heir apparent of Albus Dumbledore.  In short, he needed to be around people who knew him well enough to know better.  

Abruptly, Dung chuckled.  "You look exhausted."

"I am."  Remus shrugged, not ashamed to admit it.  "It's been a long day."

"A long two days, actually," his transfiguration professor agreed.  "For all of us."

"And there's still a great deal to do."  

"I know."  Dung glanced around the empty hall.  "I'm glad they're all gone, now.  I didn't know the Order was so big.  Not really, anyway.  Seeing all the faces is different."

"Yes."  Remus studied his friend quietly for a moment, pondering his words.  The Order of the Phoenix did seem large in the confines of the Great Hall, but in the great scheme of things, it was really very small.  Close to a hundred witches and wizards had gathered together for the last thirty-six hours, but in comparison to the rest of the world—or even to the numbers of followers that Voldemort was accumulating—eighty-five was tiny.  And yet, at the same time, eighty-five witches and wizards was far too many.

"So what now?"

"We do what we have to do," Remus answered automatically, then stopped himself, snorting.  _I've never made a more pointless statement in my life,_ he reflected wryly.  He half-smiled and shrugged, noting from the other's face that Dung understood.  "I, for one, am glad that the students are gone…at least they'll be safe for the summer."

Dung's green eyes widened.  "You think that Hogwarts will be his next target?"

"I think it has to be," the headmaster replied quietly, wishing that he wasn't so certain.  The very idea left a sick feeling in his stomach, and by the look on his friend's face, the ex-Auror felt the same way.  "Where else can he go?  Voldemort has the upper hand now, Dung.  A few more blows like the attack on the Ministry and we'll be done.  It will be over, and we'll have lost."

"But—"

"But what?" Remus challenged him gently.  "The Ministry of Magic was the most potent symbol of the light side's power after Dumbledore himself.  Now both are gone—and Hogwarts is all that's left."

"And it's the only place he's tried to take and hasn't," Fletcher agreed in a tight voice.  The transfiguration professor closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, nodding grimly.  Then he frowned deeply, adding, "Unless he tries to take out St. Mungo's, first."

 "Sirius is already working on that possibility," Remus replied.  "But I don't think that's where he'll go next.  I think he'll come here."

Even as he said the words, images flashed through his mind.  He blinked, trying to categorize them, but the visions passed too quickly fore Remus to follow… _Death Eaters.__  Dementors.  The Hogwarts dungeons—screams.  _

_Laughter._

He shivered.  There was a whirl of images, of voices, and everything was moving too quickly.  He couldn't even hope to comprehend what the visions meant before they passed—

_Screams._  Laughter.  Darkness.__

"Are you all right, Remus?"

He swallowed and shook himself.  "I'm fine."  Until that moment, Remus had no evidence to back up his suspicions about Voldemort's destination, nothing but logic and guesses…but now he knew.  Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts.  He had no way of knowing for sure when it would happen, but there was no longer a question of _if it would__.  The realization made a cold chunk of ice form in his belly.  He had so wanted to be wrong… "Attacking St. Mungo's will just make people angry, Dung," the headmaster continued, forcing himself to speak normally.  "Even if he destroyed the hospital, and killed all the innocent patients there, the fear it caused would be balanced out by anger.  Resistance would increase, not disappear."_

Neither had the stomach to mention the fact that resistance was becoming harder and harder to come by after the destruction of the Ministry.

There was a long moment of silence before Fletcher asked very quietly, "Can you hold Hogwarts against him?"

He didn't know about the Font, of course, but Fletcher wasn't a stupid man.  He knew that his headmaster had changed, knew that his connection to the school had grown deeper.  It was a mark of his respect that Fletcher would even ask—Hogwarts had held out against Voldemort once before, but that had been under Dumbledore.  In the darkest days of the war, the Dark Lord had tried to take the school, but had been foiled by the greatest wizard the magical world had ever known.

But Dumbledore was now dead, and Voldemort was coming.

"Yes," Remus replied after a moment.  "If I have to."

Dung's eyebrows rose with surprise.  "Are you certain?"

"I am."  This time he did not hesitate.  "Doing so will not be easy, but I can.  And I will.  Hogwarts must not fall."

The confidence in the headmaster's voice startled Fletcher almost as much it as startled Remus himself.  He meant every word, but hadn't ever really thought of it in these terms before.  He'd never dream about facing Voldemort on his own (even after his immersion in the Font, he was not powerful enough nor reckless enough to do so), but with the castle as his ally, he _could _stand up to the Dark Lord.  Could, and would, because Remus knew he would have to do so…and he had an awful feeling that it wouldn't be long before that day of judgment came.  The mere thought of Voldemort at his school was almost enough to make him shiver again, but the warmth at the edge of his consciousness stopped him.  The castle was there, always there, whispering and adding to his senses.  It gave him confidence to become something he otherwise would not have been: the bulwark between Voldemort and his students.

It wasn't in Remus' nature to rush out to meet a foe, to take on impossible odds and count on skill and power alone to bring victory.  He would have always defended Hogwarts to the death, but now he was ready to step forward if he had to.  No matter what came, he would face it, and he would be ready.

"You've changed, Remus," Fletcher said in a hushed voice.  Fortunately, he did not ask why or how—by unspoken agreement, Fletcher and Snape had never asked.  Only James, Sirius, and Peter knew, and that was because Remus could never hide anything from them.  But other than that, the Font was his secret, and even his best friends didn't know about all of its effects.

"Not that much," he finally replied, chuckling softly.  Then Remus smiled crookedly and changed the subject.  "But speaking of changes…have you reconsidered my offer?"

Fletcher growled and glared.

"I'm serious, Dung."

"So am I," the transfiguration professor grated.  His green eyes had darkened considerably, and nearly anyone else would have been cowed by the hostile glare that he pointed in the headmaster's direction—but Remus had known him too long.  That, and he'd been prepared for the reaction that his question would receive…because it was the same response every time.

Despite his reputation for patience (which Sirius jokingly called sainthood), Remus wasn't above playing dirty.  "We need you," he said quietly.

"No."  Fletcher's eyes flashed.  "Give the job to Snape."

"You know I can't do that."  Remus met the angry eyes, and then continued levelly.  "You can't hide forever, Dung."

"I'm not hiding."

"No?" he asked gently.  "I think you are."

Fletcher rounded on him, fury deepening the lines on his scared face.  "You have no right to judge me," he snarled.

"No, I don't," Remus agreed.  "But as your friend, I would like to help you."

"Fine way you have of showing it."

But the headmaster ignored the bitter reply.  "I know it's hard for you, and I know you want nothing to do with the Dark Arts, but you can't hide.  Maybe you could before, but not any more.  We _need you, Dung.  And it's not just Hogwarts now.  The war isn't going to be a distant evil next year.  It's going to be right on our doorstep, and I'm going to need you practiced and ready to fight."_

"I seem to recall managing fine against the giants," Dung pointed out.

"That's not the same, and you know it," he replied. 

"What's this have to do with the Dark Arts job?" Fletcher demanded.

"Everything.  You're not the only person I need to be ready when Voldemort comes," Remus reminded him.  "Those students are going to have to be able to fight—because no matter how much I pray they won't have to, they need to be able to defend themselves.  And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have teach them then you."

Fletcher sighed angrily.  "May you rot in hell, Remus Lupin."  Still, his voice was more conversational than furious now.  The mention of their students had had the predicted effect—Dung knew what was coming, and more than anyone, he knew what would be necessary to meet that threat.  No matter what else he was, Mundungus Fletcher was a strong man, and he knew duty when he saw it.  "Fine.  I'll do it.  Just don't expect miracles."

"I never do."

---------------

"We've got problems," Jones declared.

Sirius rolled his eyes.  "Tell me something I don't know."

They were sitting in an underground area that stank of age and decay.  It was one of the Aurors' oldest hiding places, a refuge to be used in emergencies only—but this certainly qualified as one.  The Ministry was destroyed, and with it had gone the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  To Sirius' knowledge, only a handful of people from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had been able to get out at all, and the Hit Wizards were all dead, aside from two who had been out on assignment.  But the Aurors had been hit the hardest of all.  Out of a force that had once numbered almost ninety, they were down to only nineteen, and somehow he'd been elected to lead them.

No one had really said so, of course, but after the raid on Azkaban, their sentiments had been plain.  No one had expected Sirius to step around that corner and face down Lord Voldemort—least of all Sirius Black himself—but he had, and in doing so, he'd accepted the fact that no matter where the war went, he'd be at the very front lines.  It was a fact that he'd come to terms with in the past weeks, but the attack on the Ministry had thrown everything into confusion.  James was no longer there to lead the Aurors, which Sirius had been more than willing to let him do.  Now, there was Sirius.

"It's worse than you think," she replied flatly.  Out of all the Aurors, Sirius was the closest to an "old timer" that there was left—and he'd been gone for a decade, locked away in Azkaban and hell.  After that, Alice Longbottom was next in seniority, but Hestia Jones had taken on the role as chief of security, and there was something in her voice that made everyone stop talking and stare.

"What?"

"Fudge," she replied flatly.  "I've got Kingsley with him now, but short of locking the fool away, there's nothing we can do to stop him.  I know that you don't want him talking to the public, but he's already set up an appointment with the WWN—"

"You've got to be kidding me," Alice Longbottom grated.  Her round face was thinner than usual, and pale.  Like several of the others, Alice should probably have been in St. Mungo's, but she'd chosen to accept quick healing and check out.  There was far too much to be done, and there wasn't enough time to do it in.  _And we wasted hours of it at Hogwarts_, Sirius reminded himself angrily.  Meeting with the Order had been necessary, but still…they'd accomplished nothing, aside from learning how very afraid everyone else was.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Bill Weasley demanded.  Like Frank Longbottom, Adam Macmillan, and Jessica Avery he'd chosen to return to the Aurors, despite his experiences in Azkaban.  Their presence that brought the small group up to a total of twenty-three—but that was counting Kingsley Shacklebolt and the two Aurors who were currently guarding James Potter.

"He's an ambitious bastard, that's what he is," Jones hissed, then half-shrugged an apology.  "He's already talking about trying to _appease Voldemort—"_

"What?" Frank very nearly bellowed the word, and was echoed by nearly every other voice in the room.  If there was one thing Sirius could be sure of, it was that there were no traitors in that room.  

Jones nodded grimly.  "He's aiming to be Minister and is hoping to get elected by promising to end the terror 'once and for all'."

"Only a fool would believe that," someone else pointed out.

"But everyone will want to," Alice replied quietly.  Several people began to object, but she shook her head.  "A week ago, we were riding high.  We'd taken Azkaban and it looked like the war might be won—but now the Ministry's gone, Dumbledore's dead, and Voldemort suddenly has the upper hand.  Think about how many people lost family members in the attack.  They'll jump at the chance for peace."

"Which is precisely why we need to keep him quiet," Sirius interjected.  "_And out of politics."_

Hestia snorted.  "Impossible.  Fudge is nothing but political."

"Actually, it may not be difficult at all," Sirius smiled slightly.  "In fact, I've been in contact with all the acting Department heads—except for Fudge, of course—at James' request.  Every single one of them has signed on to make James the temporary Minister of Magic, in light of the circumstances."

"Is that legal?" Bill wondered.

"Yes," Alice replied before Sirius could answer.  "In an emergency, it is.  Though it won't last long."

"Doesn't have to," Sirius replied.  "We can hold elections later.  Right now, the important thing to do is shut Fudge up."

Jones snickered.  "He'll hate it."

"Ask me if I care," Sirius retorted, and then shrugged.  "All right.  Fudge is dealt with—at least temporarily.  But the reason why I called you here is really to deal with our other problems."

"We'll be here for the next few years if you plan on fixing _all _of them, Sirius," Frank commented dryly, and several others chuckled.  Sirius, too, had to crack a smile.  It was nice to know that, even in such dark times, they could still laugh.  There wasn't a witch or wizard in that room who didn't fully understand the severity of the situation, or didn't know how very much they had to lose—but at least they could still laugh.  Unlike so many in the Order, Sirius' people weren't shaking in fear.  They weren't cowed, and they had no thoughts of defeat.  They were only ready—grim sometimes, but ready—to meet whatever had to come.

"In that case, I'd like to make sure that we'll actually be around for the next few years," Sirius replied.  He saw no reason to beat around the bush.  "If we're going to make any dent in Voldemort's followers, we need more Aurors."

"That'll be difficult," Oscar Whitenack pointed out, speaking for the first time.  "We don't have the Ministry's resources any more, or any of our old training facilities—"

"Except Avalon," Alice interjected sourly, and a ripple of emotion ran around the room.

To anyone else, her comment would have made little sense; even to the Magical world, Avalon was still only a place out of legend.  These days, no one even knew if the magical isle had ever existed at all, but to the Aurors, that really didn't matter.  Avalon had been their top secret training faculty for years, protected, hidden, and defended by some of the strongest magic known to wizard kind.  The name had come, long ago, from a female Auror with an odd sense of humor—and an even more interesting sense of history.  No one remembered _why she'd chosen the name, but it had stuck despite several attempts at change over the intervening centuries.  Their Avalon bore little resemblance in purpose or location to the Avalon of legend, of course, except for the fact that it was an island._

More to the point, it was an island that lay in uncomfortable proximity to Azkaban, which was why Avalon had been shut down for the last six years.

 "You read my mind," Sirius said quietly.  "We're going to have to move Auror Headquarters to Avalon, and tell _no one about it.  We don't have the old Ministry methods of screening candidates to fall back on, so we'll have to proceed carefully about who we bring to the island—and even once they get there, I don't want a single one of them to know how to get back."_

Heads nodded, and he could see them all thinking.  There were a few unhappy faces in the group, but they all seemed willing to listen, which Sirius couldn't help but worry about a little bit.  He'd expected objections to basing so close to Azkaban (which, despite favorable reports in the _Daily Prophet_, he knew would be rebuilt quickly), but no one disagreed.  Either they all saw the logic in the situation, or they trusted him entirely too much.

A chill ran down his spine, and he really hoped that it was the former.

---------------

Several hours later, Sirius was free of dark underground hideaways and in a considerably lighter environment.  The white walls of St. Mungo's probably contributed to that sense, though—they could be called sickeningly bright without any exaggeration whatsoever.  However, it was the company that made everything better, and for a moment, Sirius could almost forget that they were in the midst of a losing fight.  He could _almost convince himself that when he left James' hospital room he wouldn't be stepping into a dark world where they were inches away from defeat—and where he knew, in his heart, that he would have to be the one to end it all._

At the moment, though, all four of the Marauders were together for the first time since Voldemort's attack on the Ministry, and it was good to laugh.  Lily and Harry were with them, and James' son was currently listening, red-faced, to Remus rib him about his attempts at secrecy.

"So, did you really think that sending the Weasley twins someplace _obvious _would distract me from the fact that you and Ron were nowhere to be found?"

Harry's blush deepened as Remus snickered, and Sirius grinned.  It was good to see Moony holding his own, headmaster or not.  "Well…it wasn't _my _idea!" the boy objected.

"Sure.  That's what they all say," Peter laughed.

"But it was Ron's idea," Harry tried to defend himself.  "And how were we to know that—"

But his father cut him off.  "Harry, the first rule of pranking is—"

"Choose your allies carefully and don't get caught," the other three chorused with him, exploding into laughter.  After a moment, Harry decided to join in, and Lily only shook her head, mumbling:

"How did I get to be the only sane person in this bunch?"

Sirius snorted.  "You're not sane, Lily.  You married Prongs."

"Hey!"  Pale and in a hospital bed, James still hadn't lost his sense of outraged humor.  "Look who's talking, Padfoot!"

"And you had the little Prongslet here…"

"Sirius!"

"I believe the proper term is a 'fawn', Sirius," Peter pointed out, straight-faced.

"Semantics."  He shrugged and leaned back in his chair.  "Utter babbling."

Lily fixed Sirius with a superior look.  "Just you wait until you have children."

Sirius choked, and the other Marauders laughed.  Quite heartily, actually, until Remus spoke for Sirius, who was still choking (albeit rather theatrically, but it got the point across).

"Padfoot?  Children?"

"Puppies?" Peter added with a sly grin.

Remus snorted.  "Only when he mates with Lassie!"

Sirius struggled to look hurt as the others laughed, but finally he joined it.  A momentary image flashed through his mind, and though he found it _very hard to equate Julia with Lassie, the thought was amusing.  Despite the fact that he was sure Julia wouldn't approve...  __Ah, who am I kidding?  She'd try to look offended, and then do the exact same thing I am.  Laugh.  Finally, though, the general hilarity died down, and Sirius seized the chance to turn the subject away from the thought of canines in general…lest he come up with something to say about Remus that really wouldn't be very appropriate for Harry's young ears._

"So, how about them Cannons?"

James snorted.  "Sirius, you're an idiot."

"Tell us something we don't know!" Peter immediately quipped, and Lily raised an eyebrow.  Remus, of course, only smiled and said in his damn calm voice:

"Pot calling the kettle black, James…"

Sirius sighed and turned to his friend.  "I do believe we're outnumbered, Prongs."

"Outgunned."

"Abused."

"Outclassed."

Harry laughed; Lily shook her head, unsurprised.  Valiantly, she tried to change the subject.  "So, about the Ministry—"

"Outfought," Sirius talked right over her, smirking.

James' hazel eyes twinkled.  "Outmaneuvered."

"Outfoxed."

"James—" Lily rolled her eyes, but her husband cut her off again.  James' grin was now big enough to make the Cheshire Cat envious, and Sirius was glad to see him smile.  As much as his friend had feigned lightheartedness during the past two days, Sirius had seen the shadows lurking within him, had seen the worries and the pain.  Now, though, the buried fears were absent, and the real James had reemerged.  

"Overruled."

"Overcome."

"Over—"

"Will the two of you _ever grow up?" Lily demanded, seemingly to finally lose her patience.  Still, her tone was half-amused and half-exasperated; she'd been around them too long._

"No."  All four of the Marauders smirked.

Remus shook his head mournfully.  "What a foolish, foolish question to ask."

"Come on, Mum."  Harry rolled his eyes.  "Even I know that!"

"I had to hope," Lily muttered, shooting a glare at her husband.

Sirius snorted.  "Dream on."

"You were saying, dear?" James glanced at his wife, smiling innocently enough to make Lily snarl.  Before replying, she punched him in the shoulder.

"I was saying that you're an immature and irresponsible husband!"

James reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, grinning impishly.  His eyes sparkled.  "Other than that."

"Oh, you're impossible!"  But she smiled fondly, and Sirius saw their eyes meet with the same sickening sweetness that had been the couple's trademark for years.  _They have eyes only for each other, he thought with a smile.  _We should have known that it was over the day that Lily decided to stop hating James, but who would have thought that he would be right when he swore that he'd marry her way back in our fourth year?_  All in all, and despite the time that had passed, Lily and James were still the most lovesick couple that Sirius had ever seen._

"After sixteen years, I hope you'd realize that," James replied huskily.

Lily smiled softly, and Sirius saw the worries fade off of her pretty face.  Their fingers were still intertwined, and the mushy looks on both faces were something that the Marauders had all seen before.  Experience had taught Sirius, Remus, and Peter that it was simply better to wait these moments out—but that, apparently, was a lesson that Harry had never learned.

"Dad!  Mum!"  The eleven year old boy had reddened considerably, obviously embarrassed by his parents' antics.  James and Lily tore their gazes apart and laughed.

"Sorry, Harry," James teased.  "I keep forgetting that we haven't yet explained the birds and the bees."

Judging from the boy's intelligible sputtering, though, Sirius guess _that _certainly wasn't a problem.  In fact, the opposite was more likely to be the case, and all the Marauders laughed as Harry's pink cheeks became bright red.  He mumbled, "Dad…"

"I believe that I can answer your earlier question, Lily," Sirius interjected, taking pity on his godson and changing the subject.  Immediately, he saw the joking expressions on his friends' faces disappear, replaced by the mature interest so many of their former professors had claimed they would never manage.  Sirius hadn't had time to discuss developments with any of them; he'd come straight to the hospital from his meeting with the Aurors, and before that he'd been trying to fix the very problem he was addressing now.

"I've been in touch with all the acting Department Heads," he continued, then grimaced.  "Even Fudge.  But they all agree—except for our esteemed Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes—that it only makes sense to appoint an interim Minister of Magic until we can get elections sorted out.  Moreover, they all agree that it ought to be you."

James nodded calmly.  They had all known that this was coming.  "And Fudge?" 

"Trying to shore up support for when the elections do come."  Surprisingly, it was Peter who answered.  However, as the acting head of the Department of International Cooperation (his superior's body had been found in the ruins of the Ministry), Peter was in the best position to know. "Almost immediately after I talked to Sirius, Fudge contacted me.  He's been getting with all the Department Heads, trying to convince us that he knows how to best save the Wizarding world."  The small man grinned.  

"I told him what to do with himself, of course."

Remus nodded, chuckling.  "I saw Molly earlier.  The impression that I get is that everyone else has told Fudge the same thing.  Arthur certainly did."

The resulting smiles were no longer so merry; they were darker and older, more knowledgeable and understanding of the harsh world in which they lived.  For men like James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, it was difficult to understand _why _someone would try to turn such a bloody disaster to their own political advantage, but they had no trouble seeing the consequences of such actions.  As children, none of them would have expected to be _here_, with the weight of their world on their shoulders, but they were no strangers to responsibility.  They would always do what had to be done.

Lily suddenly twitched in her chair.  "Speaking of Fudge…" Her eyebrows rose.  "He's here now."

"Huh?" James frowned at the faux pas as Harry demanded:

"How do you know?"

Lily only smiled serenely and tapped her fingers lightly against her right temple.  "Charms."

Remus whistled softly, and Sirius couldn't help but agree.  Lily had always been talented in Charms, but she'd become absolutely phenomenal over the past years.  Most significantly, she'd amassed her shocking skills without anyone noticing—Sirius knew that outside of the Inner Circle and the Unicorn Group, she was still viewed as only a pretty face and a caring mother.  Few ever realized how powerful she really was because Lily preferred to work behind the scenes.  The fact that she'd constructed invisible wards around her husband's hospital room shouldn't have surprised the Marauders at all, but the fact that she'd keyed the wards and defined them without using a physical focus was new.

"Lily, you never cease to amaze me."  Sirius wagged his eyebrows at her.  "In fact, if you weren't married to my best friend…" He trailed off suggestively, grinning.

"A shame, isn't it?" she laughed.  "Too bad James got in first."

"Hey!" But the offended husband wasn't looking very offended at all.

"Not to mention the fact that Julia would kill you," Peter added with a smile.

"Quite."  Sirius shrugged agreeably.  "Alas, I'll simply have to—"

The door opened, cutting him off in mid-rant.  Irritated, Sirius looked up, reminding himself that he was the one who had sent the duty Aurors on break.  _Then again, I did expect that any visitors would have the manners to knock._  But he still made a mental note to take Kingsley's head off for letting them be surprised this way.  Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge stood framed in the doorway, and the career politician's jolly expression wavered as he became the focal point of six unfriendly glares.

"I didn't know that you had company, James," Fudge finally said.

"And I didn't expect you to come, so we're even," Sirius' best friend replied offhandedly.  "And it was so nice of you to knock."  He paused as Fudge stared, then smiled.  "But do come in, Cornelius.  Please."

"Hem, hem."

Umbridge cleared her throat, and Sirius saw Lily bristle out of the corner of his eye.  But James continued in the same falsely pleasant voice, acting like he was only noticing her for the first time.  "Oh, hello, Dolores."  He smiled.  "I don't believe that you've all be introduced.  Remus Lupin you've met, of course, but allow me to introduce Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and my son, Harry.  Lily, you already know."

Sirius nodded to her, watching Umbridge's round face tighten.  She hadn't expected to see them all, he realized; Umbridge and Fudge had hoped to catch James alone and… _And what?__ Sirius resisted the urge to laugh.  If either of those political flunkies thought they could browbeat _James Potter_ into doing a damn thing, they were sorely mistaken.  _This might actually turn out to be fun, _he thought sarcastically.  _Or entertaining, at the very least.__

"Good afternoon," Umbridge finally grated.  Sirius kept his eyes on her as James spoke; he didn't need to see his friend to know that James had adopted an innocently inquisitive expression and was acting like he hadn't a clue why they had come.

"So, what can I do for you?" James asked politely.

Fudge folded his hands.  "I've come to talk to you about the political situation," he began briskly.  "I understand that you've been having you friend here—" he gestured at Sirius "—talk to all the acting Department Heads on your behalf.  While I admire his willingness to do so, I question what authority Black has to accomplish anything."

"He's the head of the Auror Division," James replied mildly.

"Oh—indeed?" Fudge frowned.  "That's highly irregular.  I'm almost certain that there are several other Aurors senior to him, which would mean that—"

"The Aurors are not a political institution.  Their leaders are chosen from their own ranks and by their own colleagues.  End of story."  James' eyes became very cold.  "Find something else to complain about."

"Hem, hem."  Umbridge cleared her throat.  "I believe that Mr. Fudge does have a point.  There have clearly been several breaches of established procedures, and in times such as these, we cannot allow any doubts in the government's stability to develop."

_Ah, there it is!_  Sirius sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.  To his right, Harry was frowning indignantly, but Sirius saw Remus reach out and lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, calming him.  Lily still sat next to James, her face woodenly expressionless, and Peter had a strange smile on his face.  James, however, merely remarked:

"Of course not," he replied smoothly.  "Nor can we afford discontent to divide us, especially after the Ministry's destruction."

Fudge smiled, and though Sirius was sure that the expression was meant to be reassuring, it reminded him more of a cow than anything else.  "I'm glad that we agree," the politician answered.  "In fact, that very subject is what brings me here today."

"Oh?"  Somehow, James managed to sound surprised.  Peter, however, didn't quite manage to repress his quiet snort of impatience.  _It's about bloody time, Sirius thought in agreement.  Fudge, however, managed admirably at pretending that Peter wasn't even there._

"Yes.  I came to let you know that I will support you as interim Minister of Magic."  James' eyebrows rose with disbelief, but Fudge continued, "…On one condition." 

"And that is?" James asked immediately.

Fudge smiled.  "That you chose me as your Deputy Minister, of course."

He sounded so certain, so perfectly positive that James would jump at the chance.  The smug look on Fudge's face was mirrored almost exactly on Umbridge's, and their satisfaction almost made Sirius laugh out loud.  He stopped himself just in time, but not without shooting both of politicians an incredulous look.  How could someone misjudge James so badly when James had such a reputation for being hardheaded and determined to do the right thing?  Did they really think that political maneuvering would solve everything?  After a brief pause, though, James replied in a very mild and concerned voice.

"I'm sorry, but that won't work at all."

"Wha—I beg your pardon?" Fudge stared at him blankly, and then regained his composure.  "Why not?" 

"I'm afraid that our political differences simply won't allow it," James replied earnestly, and Sirius had to resist the urge to cackle in glee.  Oh, he had gotten _good.  _

Fudge stared at him hard.  "I would think that you would recognize the importance of political compromise."

"Oh, I do." James nodded.  "More so, probably, than you think.  But compromise isn't the same thing as chaining myself to a dead dragon, and with all due respect, Cornelius, working with you would be just that.  I need someone who will work with me, not against me."

Fudge reddened.  "I—"

"Want to be the Minister of Magic.  You want the job more than I do, for that matter, but that's not the point.  The point is that I'm not out for power, and all I want to do is win this damn war before it kills us all.  But I don't have time to play the political game, so I'll have to decline your kind offer."

"In that case, I'll have to withdraw my support for you," the shorter man huffed.

"Do so as you wish."  James shrugged.  "I only need two-thirds of the Department Heads to approve me, anyway."

Fudge jerked back as if slapped, and behind him, Umbridge's face was pinched with fury.  She stared to say something, but was cut off as her superior spoke angrily.  "You'll regret this, Potter."

"Maybe."  His voice was quiet.  "Maybe not.   If I do, I'll probably not live to appreciate the petty distinctions.  Either way, I'll know that I've done my best."

---------------


	5. Chapter 5: Against an Army

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

Second Author's Note:  Double Update!  I've also updated _Grim Dawn,_ my other ongoing AU.  Also, if you haven't read my new story, _Forget Me Not: A Story of Broken Promises_, please check it out.  Events in _Forget Me Not _have later (slight) significance in this universe.  Click on my user name to access all my stories.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Five: Against an Army

POTTER NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC 

_by_Eric Dummingston, _Special Correspondent_

Two weeks after the attack that destroyed the Ministry of Magic and 

left both the Minister and Deputy Minister dead, an interim Minister of Magic 

has emerged from the chaos.  Although offered stiff competition from 

Cornelius Fudge, currently the Head of the Department of Magical 

Catastrophes, James Potter has been chosen to lead the Wizarding 

World out of the turmoil following Albus Dumbledore's death.  Although 

chosen on a temporary basis through a vote by the acting Department 

Heads in the Ministry, public opinion indicates that Potter will be quickly 

voted into the job.  A former  Auror and Head of Magical Law Enforcement, 

Potter is currently still a patient at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical 

Maladies and Injuries after suffering major injuries during the attack.

In a surprise move, Potter has selected Arthur Weasley, formerly the head 

of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, as his Deputy Minister of Magic.  

Although many expected Fudge to be chosen for the position, Potter went 

on record as saying: "Arthur Weasley has long been overlooked in the 

Ministry of Magic.  He is an extremely talented, dedicated and intelligent 

wizard, and I firmly believe that he is more than prepared to fulfill the 

requirements of his new post."

About the continuing war and the Ministry's future, Potter says: "Although 

we have many challenges to face and have been hurt badly, we have not 

yet been overcome by darkness.  While we must remember and mourn those 

.we have lost, let us also honor them by carrying on the battle that they lost 

their lives fighting.  Together, we can and will succeed.  Together, we possess 

the strength and courage to push back this encroaching wave of darkness.  

We will not surrender.  We will not forget."

Potter's words speak of hope, which as all who cheer for the light know, has

been in short supply lately.  However, only time will tell the truth in this case;

either Potter, with help from the mysterious Order of the Phoenix (see page 7

for rumors and reports of this organization) will be able to fight back He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named's growing power, or he will fail.  While the first seems

unlikely, and the second inevitable, we must remind ourselves as a community

that all is not lost until the end.

Hopefully, Potter will be proved right in saying that it's not over yet.

In other news, the last two weeks have seen a marked increase in attacks by

followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  Thus far, sketchy reports from 

the shattered Ministry imply that at least three Aurors have been murdered, 

and several others have been injured in attacks upon their families.  

Attacks upon three prominent families have also been acknowledged, though 

the identities of these witches and wizards have not been released. 

There was no moon over Godric's Hollow as darkly robed figures crept towards the front walk.  Skull-like masks obscured their faces, and wands were held in steady hands.  They were darkness.  They were death.  And they were ready to kill.

"Are we ready?" a quiet voice whispered from within the house.

"Oscar reports that they've crossed the first line," another replied.  "No sign of recognition."

"Stand by, then."

A long moment ticked by, and the silence was audible.  It was easy to imagine that they could hear footsteps as the Death Eaters grew closer, even though logic told them that the enemy was too far away for human ears to identify.  One of their number, of course, probably could hear them, and his grave features were a study in concentration as he listened.  After a slight hesitation, he nodded to his friend, and another heartbeat passed.

"Are you ready, then, Peter?"

"Yes."  His hands were shaking slightly, but he managed to make his voice come out evenly.  A smart corner of his mind knew that he shouldn't be here—he hadn't the training orthe experience—but he _wanted_ to be.  Peter needed to be.  Besides, the Aurors were short-handed enough as it was, and Sirius hadn't had to ask.  Remus was there, too, because this was personal.  Friendship meant everything to him, and he wouldn't watch it shatter under any kind of threat, even that which that he feared the most.

"Send the message, then," Sirius replied without looking away from the window.

Peter complied, his eyes on his friend's face all the while.  Stark and white in the starlight, Sirius' intent features hardly resembled the carefree prankster Peter had known of old.  The boy-Sirius and the happy-Sirius hadn't been like this, he knew; those other Siriuses were the ones who Peter always encountered, not this serious and experienced Auror he saw before him.  Thin wrinkles of anger lined Sirius' eyes, though, telling Peter that his friend felt the same way he did—Voldemort was targeting their friends.  Tonight, for all three Marauders, was personal, and even the professional concentration on Sirius' face couldn't hide that.  Those who dared to come would not leave easily.

He felt his lips curl into a snarl.  _If they leave at all._  

Never before had Peter really wanted to kill, but tonight was an atypical night.  All old constants and beliefs had flown out the window when they had gotten word that Voldemort was coming after Lily and Harry.  Not even a week after they had left the protection of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had targeted James' wife and child.  If there was anything that could change everything, this was certainly it.

Snape had barely even gotten word to them in time.  _Snape._  The thought of the greasy git as a spy nearly made Peter laugh out loud, and he hadn't been able to believe it at first—but Remus hadn't had time to hide the truth from Peter, who had been there when Snape had finally sent the message out.  During all of his years as both a Death Eater and a member of the Order, he'd never even had a clue—the oily bastard played his role to a tee.  Even now, Peter had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept; it was simply unbelievable that Severus Snape was anything but the most loyal of the Dark Lord's followers.  Peter had always hated him for what he represented—but what did it say about him when he knew that Snape had made the same choice he had, only at far greater risk to himself and over a decade earlier?  His intense hatred for Snape could only be beaten by that he felt for himself.

Still, Snape's courage was about to save Lily and Harry's lives, which meant that the past was about to become unimportant.  Trivial.  He'd even thank the slimy jerk if this all worked out right.

"First ward down."  Remus' voice was disembodied in the darkness; wherever the Order's head stood, Peter couldn't see him at all.  He swallowed.

"Are they that good?"  The ward had gone down without a sign or a sound at all.

Sirius' voice was grim.  "Yes."

"That's the second one," Hestia Jones said quietly as a flash of light flared briefly in the night, approximately a hundred yards away from the front door.  Aurors laid in wait between their position and that, but even though the second ward had seemed far away an hour earlier, it seemed very close now.

"They won't make that mistake again."  Even though Peter could see Sirius, it was as if a stranger was speaking with his voice.  Remus, too, seemed so different, so ready—why was it that his hands wouldn't stop shaking?

"Bellatrix is leading now," Remus said suddenly.

He heard Jones' sharp breath, and knew there had to be some kind of history between the Auror and Sirius' cousin, but there wasn't time to ask.  Peter was the message-maker, and he had to concentrate on his task.  He was the only link of communication between those outside and the few who waited inside, pretending to be a sleeping Potter family and not twitching until the moment was just right.

"Let her come," Sirius said evenly, softly.  He almost seemed to relish the idea, but was far too calm for that.

 Peter frowned and glanced at where he thought Remus was, wiling his voice to come out without cracking.  "Is there any sign of—Voldemort?"

"Not yet."  And if the werewolf's sharp eyes couldn't see the Dark Lord, it meant that Voldemort wasn't there.  He'd entrusted this task to his followers, it seemed, and denied them the chance to draw him out—but why?  What did he have to fear?

This time, it was Sirius who let out a quiet hiss of frustration, but Peter couldn't agree with his friend's feelings.  He only felt immense relief upon learning of the Dark Lord's absence, because he wasn't ready to face him.  Peter also wasn't ready to hasten any of his friends' deaths, and couldn't help thinking that if Voldemort came, some of them would die—and the deaths would likely start with Sirius, who was stupid and brave enough to step out and face the wizard who'd killed Albus Dumbledore.

"They've breached the third ward," Remus said, interrupting Peter's train of thought.  The shorter man closed his eyes for a quick prayer; hoping against hope that they'd all come out of this alive.  When he opened them, his fears hadn't lessened, but at least he felt better.  Marginally.

"Get ready."

Squinting, he saw Sirius shift ever so slightly, adjusting his wand so it sat in his hand just so.  Peter started to lift his own, but a surprisingly gentle hand pushed his down.

"Whatever happens, stay down," Sirius said quietly.

"I can—"

"I know, Peter," his friend replied, squeezing his wrist.  "But I need you ready to tell Kingsley and the others when to go."

Finally, he found his voice.  "You don't have to protect me, Sirius."

White teeth flashed in the darkness as the other smiled.  "Old habits die hard."  A final squeeze of his wrist, one of friendship, then the contact was gone.  "Just be careful, Wormtail."

"Always."  Peter swallowed again, and prepared for the worst.  It was time.

He squinted once more into the darkness, peering down the Potter's front walk.  In the faint starlight, he could see the ancient metal gate, wrought centuries before by the finest of Wizarding artisans, which protected the ancestral home of Godric Gryffindor's descendants.  Once strong enough to repel an army, the gate had become only a decoration long before Harry Potter's birth; it symbolized, more than anything else, the Gryffindor tradition of openness and trust.  So it was with confidence that the leading Death Eater reached out to push the gates aside, sure that that ancient opening was nothing more than it seemed.  The Gryffindor Gates opened without protest, sliding out of the way easily and silently.

The fireworks started shortly after that.

---------------

"Now."

Sirius' voice had hardly even been a whisper, but there was nothing restrained about the impact his command caused.  Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Peter's wand stab forward perhaps too quickly (but he couldn't blame his friend for his nervousness) and alert the Aurors who were hidden outside.  Inside, Hestia Jones cast the final spell on the still invisible far line of wards, and outside, Rodolphus Lestrange reached for the front door's handle, surprised to find it unlocked—

Remus brought his wand right in a sweeping motion, activating the spell worked on the front porch and keyed to the doorknob.  Screams immediately assaulted his sensitive ears, and he smelled burning flesh and fire—but there was no time to register the carnage.  A quick jerk of his wand brought it back to the left, triggering the wards at the back door.  A window broke in front as an intuitive Death Eater came crashing through, but Sirius, waiting for such a moment, felled the dark wizard and sent him flying back to join his comrades.

Outside there was shouting, angry voices that had identified the three spell casters and were now yelling instructions.  After a moment, Remus recognized Snape's irritated sneer.

"It's only Potter's stupid friends," the senior Death Eater snapped, presumably aiming his ire at those who had retreated off of the front porch in alarm.  "Will you allow a werewolf, a traitor, and a fool to force you back?"

Silently, Remus thanked his deputy headmaster.  Snape had not known their plan, of course, but he was smart enough to figure it out.  After another moment, the other Death Eaters might very well have come to the same conclusion, but Snape's provocative challenge engaged their egos instead of rational thought.  Unexpectedly, the senior Death Eater had pushed the final piece of their risky plan's first stage into place.  Shields ready and snarling defiance, Voldemort's followers came on once more.

_A man on the floor, screaming and in pain._

Remus blinked, but the unexpected image did not go away.  _"A mistake?" a cold, high voice demanded.  "A miscalculation?"_

_Snape lay panting and shaking, temporarily free of the curse.  Slowly, the Death Eater drew himself to his knees with unsteady limbs but an expressionless face.  "My Lord," he said after a moment.  "I made the best decision I could based upon—"_

_"Crucio!"_

"Remus!" Peter's urgent hiss snapped him out of the vision.  Shaken, Remus lifted his wand in a rush and joined with his two best friends as they spoke the final incantation together.

Years of pranking had given the Marauders a knowledge of charms more extensive than most witches or wizards would acquire in a lifetime.  Not only had that allowed all four boys to score exceptionally well on both their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s (even Peter, who still thought himself stupid), it had also strengthened their understanding of how different types of magic worked together.  For example, an accident during third year had taught them that a combination of the Impediment, Disillusionment, and Flashing Paint Charms created mass confusion and disorientation far stronger than any Confundus Charm could ever hope to cause.  A grim smile crossed Remus' face.  That was one lesson that Flitwick had certainly never expected them to use in the real world.

The door opened just as all three spells struck.  A moment of absolute and eerie silence reigned then, in which Remus hardly dared to breathe.  For a moment, he began to fear that the idea hadn't worked—then the confused shouting set in.  By the sound of things, the spell had hit Snape and the Lestranges first—Snape had grown suspiciously silent and all three Lestranges were shouting.  Bewildered questions filled the short moments of quiet, and for thirty blessed seconds, none of the Death Eaters remembered why they were there.

"Now, Peter!" Sirius was in motion, and Remus leapt forward at his side.

_James, standing face to face with Voldemort._  Flash.  _Lily, with tears running down her face._ Visions.  _Harry, being shouted at by a fat man and a bony woman who Remus thought he recognized as Lily's sister.  A fat boy glowered at Harry from behind his mother—Sirius, standing alone in a storm—_

_No!_  He'd only gone three steps, but it felt like a lifetime had passed.  _Not here!_  It took all Remus' strength of will to banish the visions that still danced behind his eyes.  _Not now.  Not here.  Not now._  Peter was to his left, Sirius to his right.  Jones was diving out the broken window, and they all came outside together.  They had approximately twenty seconds now to wreck as much chaos and carnage as they could muster.  From the darkness, Kingsley Shacklebolt's team came rushing forward, pinning the Death Eaters between the gate and the house. 

Red light flashed.  Sirius and Jones had struck first, their reflexes a hair faster than Remus' confused mind could keep up with.  The world still felt like it was running in slow motion; visions still fought for attention at the back of his consciousness.  Suddenly, Remus found himself irrationally angry with Albus Dumbledore—_Why me?_—but the moment passed quickly, and he channeled that fury into his magic.

They poured power into the enemy, even little Peter Pettigrew, whom everyone always underestimated.  For almost half of a minute, they struck at will, encountering little resistance until instinct began to overcome confusion and the Death Eaters began to fight back.  But by then they'd been forced back and clumped together, driven away from the back door by a fast-approaching Oscar Whitenack and Mucia Coleman, both of whom had only recently been released from St. Mungo's.  Within that first minute, half of which the Death Eaters wasted trying to organize, the outnumbered Order members had made greater strides than they could have dared hope for.  Five Death Eaters were down, and none of their own had fallen—

Then green light filled the air and the fight began in earnest.  An image flashed in Remus' mind, and on instinct he reached out and pulled Peter away from a Killing Curse.  A quick return spell was eaten up by Bellatrix Lestranges' shield, but Peter got through with a Shocking Spell and Remus heard her swear angrily.  Dodging a Blasting Curse from Nott, he tried to send one back in exchange but miscalculated and missed, though fringes of the curse struck Avery instead.  

Every now and then, images fought to worm their way into his mind, but Remus forced them back.  It was hard enough to follow events without having the presence of—_of what?_ he asked himself helplessly—lurking in his mind.  The fight had become utter chaos in the space of a moment.  Remus had only participated in an all-out battle once before, when Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts all those years ago.  And even that had been nothing like this—Godric's Hollow had become a free-for-all; there was no time for sides of for battle lines.  There was hardly time to even begin to think, and Remus had to thank his enhanced hearing more than once when it provided his only warning before a spell could strike.  He found himself separated from Peter quickly enough and devotedly hoped that someone was looking out for the smaller man…

---------------

In the darkness, other battles waged.  These were quieter, and slower, but no less deadly because of it.  Unanswered and unthought of questions came to light as Dementors converged upon one home after another, taking innocent victims as they slept.  Few knew to resist.  Fewer still succeeded.

None, however, were without purpose.  Down fell the Mudbloods and the Half-bloods; they died without knowing and often without even understanding.  Their families joined them, more often than not, and many died in the darkened hours that all would come to fear.

Susan Bones was the first; along with her older cousin whom had steadfastedly stayed out of the war.  The last two members of a family that had nearly been destroyed by Lord Voldemort, they fell side by side, altered too late to fight but just early enough to understand what they had lost.  Tim Sloper died in his bed, as did both of his parents, who were Muggles and never had a clue.  His younger brother, Jack, was a year from receiving his own Hogwarts letter and would now never do so.  Like the Slopers, the Greengrasses fell without a fight; they were a family of old Slytherins who had never supported the ambition and evil of Lord Voldemort, and now found that his memory was indeed long enough to remember a boy from his own class, so long ago.

Last to go were the Lovegoods, father and daughter.  The Dementors had hunted them solely out of spite; once the Dark Lord found a score to settle, there was no hope.  Outnumbered and hopeless, both fell to the Kiss—like many others, not truly dead, yet never to live again.  Both were found by a neighbor the following morning, sitting soulless and empty, simply staring into the sky.  There was no Dark Mark over any of the four homes.  One was not needed with the evidence that the Dementors left behind.

Still, though, the warning was clear.

---------------

In the end, victory was theirs, and jubilant Aurors were able to return to their families, having won a small but significant victory against the rising power of the Dark Lord.  The end tally turned out to be Aurors 3, Death Eaters 0; to everyone's surprise, Nott had been captured and two of Voldemort's other servants lay dead, including Rabastan Lestrange.  Remus hadn't meant to kill the younger Lestrange, but the Bone Breaking Curse had snapped Rabastan's neck in half and killed him instantly.  Although there would be inevitable repercussions for killing a son of one of the Wizarding World's oldest families, he couldn't worry about that at the moment.  Too much was changing, and too fast—and visions danced behind his eyes that would have frightened him if he understood what they meant. 

As the next morning dawned, though, the world was abruptly reminded that Voldemort never forgot an insult and never forgave a defeat.  The first Remus learned of it was through the _Daily Prophet_, and he hadn't believed it until he'd seen the truth with his own eyes.

Godric's Hollow lay in ruins, proving that the Dark Lord would not countenance defeat at all.

---------------


	6. Chapter 6: Footsteps on a Dark Road

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Six: Footsteps on a Dark Road

He'd asked to be buried at Hogwarts.

Although there was no precedent for it, not a soul argued.  No one had ever been buried on the school grounds—though legend did claim that Gryffindor himself lay at rest beneath the great lake.  But that was only legend, and until Albus Dumbledore's death, the tradition had never been broken.  Hogwarts, after all, was a place for growth and learning, not for death.  Dumbledore, however, was different, and no one dared to refuse his final request.  Not even the school governors, Lucius Malfoy included, raised a single voice in opposition, leaving the decision with Hogwarts' current headmaster.  Maybe they had expected him to argue, but Remus hadn't hesitated.

Oftentimes, he wondered if this was the only true request Dumbledore had made in his long life.  The former headmaster and Minister of Magic had spent a lifetime giving to others, fulfilling their dreams—_did you ever have time for your own dreams, old man?_ Remus wondered silently.  _Or were you too busy with the rest of us?_  He closed his eyes against the bright sunlight, trying to pretend that it was the wind that brought tears to his eyes.  Or maybe he wasn't.  Remus didn't particularly care if anyone saw him cry; though he wasn't a crier by nature, Dumbledore had been more than his headmaster.  The famous wizard had been more than a friend to him, too: he'd been a mentor and a guide, who'd given Remus far more than a chance at education.  Albus Dumbledore had almost single-handedly made Remus' life possible.

 _If not for him, I'd probably be locked up in a cage somewhere, or living in the wilds of Merlin only knows where.  I wouldn't have come to Hogwarts.  I wouldn't have met the best friends I've ever known.  I wouldn't have a job, and I wouldn't even have a life worth _living_.  The only good thing is that I wouldn't be a part of this war_, Remus thought cynically.  But then he smiled slightly to himself.  Even the war, even with its long years and mess of bloodshed, was worth it.  He would vastly prefer to be a part of the war than an "innocent" bystander.

If there even would be innocent bystanders by the time that this was over.

Next to him, Sirius touched Remus' left elbow.  The Auror's voice was subdued.  "They're here."

Remus turned his head to watch as six figures made their way up the small hill, walking slowly and formally.  A cynical part of the headmaster's mind reflected that it was the most sedate he had ever seen those six children act—but he knew that was wrong.  They understood.  Contrary to what many others thought, those six would.

Dumbledore had asked for a quiet funeral.  He hadn't wanted it to be a large and important affair—_"No ruffles or flourishes," _his brother had said in a heavy voice.  That was Aberforth Dumbledore, whom Remus only met once but had mysteriously shown up before anyone could find the younger Dumbledore to notify him of Albus' death. Aberforth had left most of the arrangements to Remus, but he'd put his foot down in a surprisingly gentle manner.  Where many wanted to give Albus Dumbledore the type of send off they felt he _deserved_, Aberforth wanted his brother to have the type of funeral that he would have _enjoyed_.  Understanding, Remus had taken the younger Dumbledore's side, and they'd followed the former headmaster's instructions to the letter.

Dumbledore had wanted simple: he got simple.  Although there was actually a larger crowd than Remus had anticipated, the funeral itself was to be excruciatingly simple.   Few would speak.  Fewer still might understand, but Remus did.  Dumbledore had also made a less expected request, but Remus had granted that, too.  He'd asked for Harry Potter, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Lee Jordan to be his pallbearers.  He'd asked for the Misfits.  The Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble.  Terrors, all of them, especially where rule-breaking and general sneakiness were concerned.

And Remus knew that Dumbledore would have dearly loved to be their headmaster.  The six children had been slightly confused, but they'd agreed readily.  They'd all met Dumbledore, of course, but none had been especially close to him—even Harry, whose parents had been deeply involved with the Order for years.  Remus, however, had explained a little bit, and had shown them the letter that Dumbledore had left for them (that he hadn't read and never would), and the Misfits had agreed.  It had taken some strenuous convincing to persuade Mrs. Jordan to allow Lee to attend the funeral at all, but Remus had finally talked her into it.  Lee walked stone-faced with his fellow Gryffindors, with one light hand guiding the coffin that floated between them.  

A sorrowful note filled the air. 

Fawkes had arrived.  The red and gold phoenix swooped down from the sky, singing a heart-chilling song of sadness and grief.  Remus hadn't seen him since the night before, but he understood why.  Fawkes had been with Dumbledore for countless years, and he, too, had the need to mourn.  Some might have wondered if a phoenix could really mourn, but the silver tears glowed in the corners of Fawkes' eyes left no room to doubt.

Fawkes swept down and landed gently upon the polished wood coffin.  Dumbledore's body had been badly abused by both Death Eaters and by the Ministry's falling wreckage; the coffin was closed, as per Aberforth's request.  Magic could have restored the old Minister's looks, but they had all agreed that this was for the best.  Dumbledore had never been ashamed to show his scars—he'd once said that they could be useful, in the end—so they changed nothing.  

Remus sucked in a deep breath, wondering if they should have left the coffin open after all.  Aberforth had been right when he'd pointed out that there would be many children present, and there was no need to scare them—but Remus was also aware of the thousands of _other _faces watching.  He knew that those ordinary witches and wizards had faced their own fears to come to the funeral, braving the possibility of attack by Voldemort because they loved and respected Albus Dumbledore.  Many of them would not have fully comprehended the Minister's injuries, or what they meant—perhaps he should have insisted that the coffin be open to drive the message home.  _He fought_, Remus wanted to scream at them.  _You should too._

But that was only his bitter grief speaking, and he knew that he should ignore it.  Remus closed his eyes once more, willing the darker thoughts to leave him.  _Let me remember Dumbledore as he would want me to.  Not with bitterness.  _He opened his eyes again.  The Misfits had reached the waiting gravesite.  It was time.

To his right, a figure in a wheelchair moved forward.  There hadn't been time to improve much upon the Muggle device, though those wheels would gladly take to any terrain and required no effort to move.  Simply put, there weren't many wizards in history who had become paralyzed from the waist down; usually, there wasn't any physical injury that magic couldn't fix, or lost body parts that magic couldn't help replace.  James Potter, however, had remained a mystery to the healers at St. Mungo's, and although they had called upon experts from across the world, Dumbledore's successor was still confined to a Muggle wheelchair.  To do James credit, it had hardly stopped him from acting normal, even though he'd have to return to the hospital for more tests immediately following the ceremony.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming," James began quietly.  His voice carried easily; the wind had dropped, now, and the bright sun was sliding behind a cloud.  _A shame, _Remus thought quietly, with his eyes still on his friend. _Dumbledore would have preferred the sun._  But James was continuing, and Remus knew that the grief in his voice was real.  Unconsciously, Remus reached out and put an arm around Lily, who stood to his right now that James was gone.  He wasn't usually the demonstrative type, but Lily was his friend, and she was taking this hard.

"We come together today in a common cause.  I don't think that I need to tell anyone what that is."  James was speaking without notes; what he said, he meant from the heart.  "But instead of mourning today, we ought to celebrate—and we ought to all be thankful that we were privileged enough to know Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.  I ask, therefore, that we remember him as he was—not as others wished him to be.

"He was a strong man, and a great one.  He sacrificed much for all of us, but he did not do so out of a desire to be a hero.  Albus Dumbledore was, first and foremost, human.  And he believed that people should have the right to choose their own paths, no matter what those should become.  And he fought for that right.  Thus, we come together today not only to mourn, but also to honor his sacrifice.

"Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore died so that others might live.  There is no higher calling.

"If he was here, Albus would remind us that all is not lost.  There are dark days before us, yes, but courage is measured in how we meet that darkness—and I, for one, intend to do so as Albus Dumbledore did: openly and with my head held high.  There is much to lose, but there is also much to gain.  And I will not forget the man who fought for so long, and asked for so little."  James suddenly drew a deep breath in, and Remus saw him swallow tears back.

"I will remember."

The silence was broken by a witch's sob, and Remus turned his head slightly to focus on Auriga Sinistra.  The normally quiet Astronomy professor had tears running down her face, and she leaned heavily into the shoulder of her younger brother as she cried.  Against Remus, Lily shook slightly and then she stepped forward.

She continued walking, silently and woodenly, until she stood directly in front of the polished oak coffin.  The Misfits stepped aside to allow her to pass, and Lily laid her hands upon the coffin.  Her voice was soft, yet carried to everyone's ears, though she never tore her eyes away from the coffin.

"And so we bring his body to Hogwarts, the place he always called home.  We shall leave him here with our love, so that he might watch over generations of Hogwarts students to come."  Her voice choked up, and Remus saw her eyes close briefly before she could continue.

"Goodbye, Albus Dumbledore.  May you always rest in peace."

The crowd echoed her whisper.  "Rest in peace."

Slowly, the coffin drifted away from Lily's hands, sinking downwards until it rested in the open grave.  

The spells were already in place.  As soon as the coffin came to rest, the dirt and grass around the grave began to move.  Under the mourners' watchful eyes, the grave slowly filled itself.  No one spoke; this was an ancient part of a Wizarding burial ceremony.  Moments later, the grass on the hill was unmarred, leaving only a white marble headstone to mark the grave.

**Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore**

**84th Headmaster **

**25 June 1841 – 19 June 1992**

He'd asked for it to read so.  Dumbledore had wanted no list of his achievements, no litany of his awards.  He hadn't even wanted them to put down that he had been the Minister of Magic—his instructions had been very clear on that point.  Dumbledore had only wanted them to remember that he had been the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—the most important thing he'd ever done.

Other people began to move forward, placing flowers on the grave.  Some of them spoke quietly, saying goodbye in their own ways, but as Remus watched them, he couldn't help feeling a little bitter.  By rights, there should have been another grave by Dumbledore's side.

But Arabella Figg had been buried without ceremony, and with only her remaining family present.  Her brother and his family had already left the country, headed for America and away from the war.  They were finished, Theodore Figg had told James angrily.  The Figgs would have no part in this; not any more.  They would not lose any more family members to a war that could not be won.  So they had run away, abandoning the cause that Arabella Figg had died to protect.  Remus didn't even know where her remains lay. 

He stepped forward, pushing those angry thoughts aside.  Remus had already said his goodbyes to Dumbledore, but he suddenly felt the need to do so again.  He would miss the old man dearly, and he headed over to where Lily clung desperately to James' hand.  She was taking this harder than anyone else, he knew, because of the close relationship she'd developed with Dumbledore during her years as his "secretary."  Lily had come to view Dumbledore as a mentor and guide during that time, and she was deeply wounded by his death—and her inability to stop it.  Suddenly, a cold breath of wind brushed against the back of his neck.

His head began to turn, but even Remus' werewolf-enhanced reflexes were too slow.  He caught a glimpse of dark shadows out of the corner of his eye, but then a harsh hand fell upon his arm.  "Dementors," Sirius rasped.

Sirius was in motion, and Remus was on his heels.  As they split through the crowd, he noticed that others had realized, too.  People were screaming and fleeing, with the memories of Voldemort's recent attacks fresh in everyone's mind.  Dementors were swarming up the hill, and by the time Sirius had reached the forefront of the crowd, they were less than fifty yards away.  Then Peter was at Remus' side, wand in hand.

_What is Peter doing here?_

"What do I do?" the smaller man asked.

"Pray," a fourth voice said.

It was James, whose wheelchair had flown up the slight incline without any protest or problems.  Then again, when Sirius tinkered with a Muggle device, it was bound to fly at the very least—but there was no time for irrelevant thought.  James, too, had his wand in hand, and though Remus couldn't remember grabbing his own, he felt the cool wood between his fingers.  James' face was grim, and the wind was whipping at them all.

"James!" Lily's scream was almost lost in the wind, but when Remus turned to look at her, the crowd had carried her away.

The Dementors began to close.

Everyone was screaming.  The crowd was rushing about madly, searching for any avenue of escape, but the Dementors were closing in on them quickly.  Worse yet, the creatures were coming in on a broad line, and the ends of that line were creeping around to encircle the mourners before they could flee.  All that stood in their path was four men, one of whom could not even stand—and they stood alone.  Everyone else who would have been willing to fight had been caught in the panicked crowd, leaving four men to face almost a hundred Dementors alone.  It was impossible, of course, but somehow, fate had placed the four of them on the front line.

Remus shivered, and suddenly he realized how very fast the Dementors were moving.  It was getting so cold, so quickly—and he suddenly felt that it was hard to breathe, hard to think.  He struggled to scrape up a happy thought, but suddenly his mind was blank—until James reached out and grabbed his elbow.

"Ready?" the wheelchair-bound Marauder asked.  His voice was hoarse, but steady.  Remus didn't trust himself to reply.  He tried to nod, but found that his hands were shaking.  Peter, to his right, was not faring much better.

The Dementors were closing fast.

"Now!" Sirius snapped.  He sounded angry, and his voice was tight.  But Remus couldn't blame him.  Sirius had always hated being afraid.

Remus wrenched his mind away from his own fears.  _A happy thought, he told himself desperately.  _Think of something happy_.  The Dementors were coming closer, and his mind drew a terrifying blank.  After what seemed like an eternity, the solution occurred to him, and it was so simple that Remus couldn't believe that he hadn't realized it before—Hogwarts.  His school.  His students.  His home.  He raised his wand, crying: __"Expecto Patronum!"_

_"Expecto Patronum!"_  James' voice joined his own, and Sirius' came a split second later.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

Peter took a moment longer, but his words still came out strong.  _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Silver light flashed, and four Patronii rushed out towards the Dementors.  Flying high above the others was Sirius' eagle, and next to that, Remus realized with a shock, was his own—but it was not the wolf as he remembered it.  Once upon a time, he'd been surprised to learn that his Patronus was the wolf as he had always wished it could be: beautiful and peaceful and free—but his was the wolf no longer.  A giant phoenix soared at the side of Sirius' eagle, and he knew it to be his own.  In a strangely unsurprising way, the phoenix resembled Fawkes.  It was the Order, Remus realized.  The part of the Order that had become himself.

Peter's stag galloped alongside James' bounding lion, and the symbolism of both was clear.  James had told Remus about Peter's first corporeal Patronus, and Remus wasn't surprised to see that its form hadn't changed.  They rarely ever did.  James', of course, was simple; his Patronus had always been the massive lion of Gryffindor.  Together, they were one of the most beautiful sights Remus had ever seen: powerful, indestructible, and light.  Within moments, the four Patronii began to spread apart to meet the Dementors' wide front.

And then they faltered.

Horrified, Remus watched the Dementors rush to meet the separated Patronii, slashing violently into their midst.  He saw his phoenix rear up, struggling to over fly the score of Dementors that sought it out.  For a short moment, he thought that the phoenix might avoid them, but then a mass of black shadows mobbed the Patronus and the silver light wavered.  Remus saw one Dementor flee, but the others closed in—and suddenly, his phoenix was lost in darkness.  Fear gnawed immediately at his soul, and Remus spun wildly to seek the fate of his friends' Patronii, hoping desperately that they had fared better than he.

Peter's stag lasted the longest, but even as Remus turned his head, it, too, disappeared into nothingness.  They were lost.

The Dementors picked up speed, bolstered by their success if such creatures could feel at all.  Confidently, they closed with the Marauders, and Remus began to feel very, very cold.  The Dementors were close enough that he could hear their rattling breathing and his sensitive nose could smell their stench of decay—only fifty feet separated the four of them from doom.  Every instinct within Remus screamed at him to flee, but a hurried glance over his shoulder told him that the mourners were still struggling to escape.  _Cold_.

"We have to run!" Peter cried into the still-rising wind.  Remus felt like they were caught in a monsoon.

"We can't!" he screamed back.  Distantly, he noticed that his voice sounded high-pitched from fear, but there were innocents behind them who couldn't fight back.  And there was no time.

Sirius grabbed Peter's arm.  "Together!" the Auror shouted; he could hardly be heard over the howling wind.  "We have to do it together!"

_Together until the end_.  A chill ran down Remus' spine, and suddenly he was calm.  Together.  It was their only chance.

_"EXPECTO PATORNUM!"_  

Four voices.  Four wizards.  One soul.

There was no hesitation.  Together, they had always been strong.  Although the world had tried to tear them apart more than once, the four of them had never broken.  Despite hardships and time apart, they had always been together, and together there was no fear.  Their friendship had always been greater than others had seen, even in the beginning.  They had always been closer than others could understand.  _What we are is brothers, and as such we remain…_

Bright light bathed the hill side in silver, and Remus was almost blinded by the suddenness and ferocity of this power.  His wand shook slightly in his hand, and he was surprised to see that none of them had created a corporeal Patronus at all—instead, four silver lines of power emerged from their wands.  But those lies were not made of mist; they were solid, and as Remus watched in amazement, the separate lines wound together, twisting around one another and speeding towards the Dementors.  Suddenly, white light split the sky.

Remus blinked, unable to believe his eyes.  He knew what he was seeing—there was no mistaking _this_—but all the same, it was impossible.  He blinked again, then returned to staring at the four silver forms that the lines had become.  They charged side by side, heading straight into the thick of the Dementors.

Moony.

Wormtail.

Padfoot.

Prongs.

They were connected, though, linked together.  And a bright light surrounded them that Remus could not define.  Before he could even draw a deep breath, though, their combined Patronii dove into the mass of Dementors.  Once again, the creatures closed in on the Patronii, but then an explosion seemed to rock the world.  And indeed the hill _did shake—but this was no earthquake.  Sheer power made Hogwarts tremble on that day.  More than power was involved, however, and though many did not realize it, the world was given its first taste of something different that day.  Something unexpected, because power alone could not make a hundred Dementors flee.  It took something far greater than power to do so._

For if there was anything Dementors could not stand, it was love.

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	7. Chapter 7: Those Left Behind

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Seven: Those Left Behind

The owls began arriving as dawn approached, coming one by one in the darkness.  Many awoke to find an impatient beak tapping energetically on their hand/arm/foot/face/whatever appendage was accessible to the impetuous creature at the given moment.  Although the owls went to vastly different residences, they each bore an outwardly identical letter that was closed with the same seal: two clasped hands surrounded by a ring of fire and ice.  Most did not recognize the seal, but some did.

Those few felt heartsick right away.

---------------

The first to receive his letter was Remus J. Lupin, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  He had just woken up, and was making his way from his personal quarters to his adjoining office, padding across the cool floor with bare feet.  He hadn't slept well the night before, which he suspected was caused, at least in part, by the Dementors' influence.  It had been havoc trying to sort out the chaos after the Dementors' retreat at Dumbledore's funeral, and hours had passed before he and his friends had been able to sort out the guests and reunite the separated families involved.  Many had tried to flee—quite hopelessly—and had nearly run into the Dementors' waiting arms.

Remus hadn't realized how close they had cut it until he'd listened to the survivors' stories.  Even now, he shivered as he thought about the damage that almost a hundred Dementors could have wreaked upon so many innocents.  _But we won_, the headmaster reminded himself quietly.  _Somehow, we won._

Four wizards had defeated nearly a hundred Dementors.  Alone.  They had stepped forward and acted without thinking; somehow they had managed to drive _one hundred _Dementors away from a feast of innocent souls.  And they had nothing but their friendship to depend upon.  But in the coldness and in the dark, it had been enough.  Their friendship had been enough. 

Remus was a quintessential history buff, and he knew without a doubt that _nothing _like that had ever happened before.

Wandering over to his desk, he was surprised to find Fawkes waiting for him.  Remus hadn't seen the phoenix since Fawkes had arrived during Dumbledore's funeral, and he hadn't expected to for some time.  While he was still trying to come to grips with his new relationship with the remarkable creature, Fawkes had spent the better part of a century with Dumbledore, and Remus knew that the old man's loss cut the phoenix deeply.  The Order's new head had understood Fawkes' need to get away, especially in the face of Dumbledore's funeral—this was the first quiet period they had experienced since the Ministry's destruction…or at least it had been until the Dementors arrived.   

Fawkes peered up at Remus from on top of the headmaster's desk, standing on the polished wooden surface instead of on his normal perch.  His large eyes peered at Remus meaningfully.  Only then did Remus notice the letter that lay in front of Fawkes' taloned feet.

Somehow, Remus found himself sitting down.  He took a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart—how could something so simple reawaken all his grief?  He had already mourned the great old wizard, had already felt torn up inside because of Dumbledore's death.  Why was it that a simple letter could mean so much?  With shaking hands, he broke the seal.

_Dear Remus,_

_There are no words to say what needs to be said, especially to you, upon whom I have left such a burden.  Yes, I know that Fawkes has chosen you.  I daresay that the choice was inevitable, to those who knew to see.  Forgive me if I speak in riddles.  It is far too late for that._

_As you know, I left no will.  I have chosen to deal with my worldly possessions in another way, one that will perhaps keep safe what needs to be guarded.  Riddles again, I know, but it is the truth.  You, I think, will understand.  _

_I've left you with far more than I would like, Remus, and for that I apologize.  All I can say to ease the burden is that you are one of the strongest men I have ever known, and that there is no one I would trust more to lead the Order of the Phoenix.  You have proved yourself far beyond what anyone could ever ask of you, and I am sure that you will face whatever the future brings with equal strength.  You have always, Remus, been one of the wizards whom I am proudest to say I taught._

_But platitudes aside, I hope to leave you more than burdens.  Enclosed are all the notes I have written about Hogwarts' Font of Power; they are a century's worth of study and guesswork.  There are few resources on any Font, of course, and even fewer legends, but everything I was able to find out, I have left to you.  _

_I have also left you my pensive; it should have arrived in your office by now, brought, I hope, by Fawkes, who long ago promised to do so.  I urge to you make use of my memories in any way possible, Remus, for they certainly do me no good now.  I have learned many lessons in my long life, both good and bad, and I sincerely hope that you do not make the same mistakes.  But use it how you will, Remus.  I know you will do the right thing._

_Your friend,_

**_Albus Dumbledore_**

---------------

The first owl landed right on the chest of a sleeping James Potter, who had been forced to return to St. Mungo's after the funeral.  Needless to say, the hospital's staff had been horrified when they'd learned what he'd done; they didn't seem to understand that he hadn't had a choice.  So they had poked and prodded until they'd assured themselves that James was all right—or at least no more damaged than he had been when he'd left that very morning.  

"Oof!"

When James had finally fallen asleep, still growling angrily over the fact that he _had _to stay in the hospital, he certainly hadn't expected to wake up with an owl standing on his chest, pecking irritably at his _nose.  He'd hoped to wake up and see Lily's face, or even Harry's (else Sirius or Peter or Remus at a stretch), not a bloody owl.  Snarling, he tried to shift out of the way, but the darn bird kept aiming for his nose—"Will you get _off_ me?"_

"Hoot."

In other words, not likely.  Grabbing the owl in his right hand—it tried to squirm away immediately—James glanced around the room for help.  Unfortunately, he was completely alone, except for the ruddy bird.  Obviously, Lily and Harry were still at Grimmauld Place, where they'd been staying ever since Snape had alerted them to the fact that Voldemort was targeting Godric's Hollow.  James snorted.  _Lucky them._

"Hoot!"

"All right already!" he growled, snatching the letter away from the owl's grasp.  "Is this what you're so damn impatient about?"

Round eyes stared at him, but seeing the clasped hands surrounded by a ring of fire and ice made his blood run cold.  

James ignored the owl, and began to read.

_…There are dark days coming, James, darker than many know.  Yet I know you will meet them, and my only regret is that I will not be there—not because I think you need help, but because I would spare you from having to deal with the mess my generation has left behind.  But if wishes were broomsticks, mermaids would fly._

_I can but leave you with something that has served me so well.  Enclosed is a pocket watch that was enchanted by a friend of mine long ago.  If you look at the face, you will notice that it is no normal watch; at any given moment, the watch will show the status of the Wizarding world.  It has proved very useful to me, as I hope it will do for you.  _

_There has been but twice in my life that the watch has read "Chance."  The first was when I faced Grindelwald, and the second was in February of 1987, in the weeks before I became the Minister of Magic.  As you can see, the name of "Chance" can be very misleading.  Chance represents the fatal moments that can lead our world to ruin.  Chance, in many ways, represents choice…_

---------------

Harry was surprised to find an owl flying circles around his head.  From her cage, Hedwig hooted a greeting to the newcomer, making Harry squint in the semi-darkness.  At least he _thought _it was an owl—without his glasses, it was nearly impossible to tell.  After fumbling around for a moment (the bedside table was on the wrong side here at Grimmauld Place), he found his glasses and placed them on his face.  It was hard to tell in the early morning light, bt there was no mistaking the tawny-coated owl that had started laps around his room.

The eleven-year-old frowned.  "I think you've got the wrong room," he told the bird with authority.  "Sirius' room is down the hall."

The owl gave him a bug eyed glare and landed on the bed in front of him.  It held a letter in one outstretched claw.  "Hoot."

"For me?" Harry asked with confusion.  

The creature pecked at his arm irritably, so Harry reached out to accept the letter.  He was surprised to see golden words written on the outside.

**_Harry Potter_**

**_The Green Room_**

**_12 Grimmauld Place_**

**_London_******

Confused, he broke the blue wax seal and opened the letter.  Moments later, he was turning on the light to get a better look.

_…And so I leave you the Sword of Gryffindor, which is yours by right.  Once, it was a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who loved your ancestor like a brother.  After his death, Hufflepuff placed the sword in the Sorting Hat, to be kept there until a day when it would be needed by one of Gryffindor's descendants.  When the sword emerged recently, I knew it was meant for you._

_Use the sword well, Harry.  Always remember that it was a gift of love and friendship.  When all else fails except those two feelings, recall that fact: the Sword of Gryffindor will best serve those who are pure of motive and strong in heart…_

---------------

Hermione blinked.  She'd been up all night, reading the new book that her parents had bought her as a welcome home present, _A Wizarding History of the New World_.  It really was very interesting, despite what Ron had said about it (and he really wasn't a prat all the time, despite the way he tended to act), and she hadn't been able to put it down.  Her parents would have overreacted if they learned she hadn't slept, so when she heard the light tapping noise on her bedroom door, Hermione dove under the covers, taking the book with her.  Quickly, she thumbed off the flashlight she'd been using and held her breath.

_Tap, tap._

It took her a long moment to realize that the sound wasn't coming from the door at all—it was coming from her _window_.  Something was tapping against the glass.  Cautiously, Hermione poked her head out from under the blankets.

There was an owl at her window.

Hermione blinked again and broke free of her blankets, rushing to throw the windows open.  Her first thought was that something terrible had happened to Ron or Harry, but she'd just seen them yesterday at the funeral—

She didn't recognize the handwriting, but she got a sinking feeling in her heart.

_I never had the privilege of knowing you myself, but Headmaster Lupin always speaks very highly of you…_

_Enclosed is a time-turner.  In a world that might have been, you would have made good use of it, both for academic…and not so academic purposes.  Now, I only caution you to use it with care—disastrous consequences can come from playing with time…_

---------------

_Dear Molly,_

_…as a thank you for all you have done—the obvious and the not-so-obvious, I send you Trixie, a house elf who will serve you well.  I know that you dislike charity, but look upon her as a gift to a dear friend.  The future, I am sure, will keep you busy enough without all that housework…_

---------------

Arthur put an arm around his wife to still her quiet weeping.  Losing friends was always difficult, but Dumbledore's death had hit them both hard.  Once upon a time, he'd taught them both, and he'd been Molly's head of house during her last two years at Hogwarts, after Arthur had already left.  He'd been a good man, and they both missed him desperately, especially given Arthur's new position in their world.  Sighing, he began to read his own letter once more.

_…I know that many have ridiculed your love for Muggles and their gadgets, but your acceptance does credit to 'our' world.  If others were as tolerant and as open-minded as you, Arthur, many of the problems we now face might never have existed.  So, I leave you a pair of Muggle "walkie-talkies," which will work when all Magical communication fails…_

---------------

In another room, a red-haired eleven year old was staring at his bundle incredulously.  Slowly, he reached out to touch the shimmering object, and his face slowly split into a grin.

_…This invisibility cloak once belonged to Alastor Moody, a famous Auror.  "Mad-Eye" left the cloak with me before his death, asking that I give it to someone who would need it one day.  That someone is you, Ronald Weasley, and I trust that you will use it as well as your best friend has employed his own.  Enjoy the jokes in life, Ron, but remember the future, when darkness may also require the ability to sneak by unseen…_

---------------

_I know that the both of you have utilized what Hogwarts' founders called the Room of Requirement many times.  This room comes to those who need it, in whatever form is necessary.  So far, you have only used the room as a convenient hiding place to save you from onerous professors, but there may come a day when the Room of Requirement is required for different purposes.  When that day comes, I trust that the infamous Weasley twins will know were to go._

_The piece of parchment behind this letter seems completely innocent, but a simple tear—of even one corner—will bring the room to you.  Good luck in all your endeavors, be they great or small…_

Fred looked up and watched the smile grow on his twin's face.  

"So _that's _what that broom closet was…" George trailed off, understanding.

"Yeah, I was wondering where it got off to the next time we needed it."

---------------

"I don't understand," Ginny whispered to herself.  "I didn't even know him…"

She'd only met Albus Dumbledore once, and little Ginny Weasley didn't even think that the late Minister of Magic even _knew _who she was.  Still—

_These glasses may seem normal, but appearances are often deceiving.  Much like a certain map that your brothers have inherited, these glasses give you the power to know what lies on the other side of walls.  However, not all walls are physical, and these glasses, when worn, can breach them all; they will give you the vision to see through walls of untruth, of disguise, and of desperation…_

---------------

"What are you doing here?" Lee hissed at the owl.  "I _told _Fred and George not to send anything!  Mum is going to kill me if she finds out—"

The letter, however, was not in a handwriting that he could recognize.    
And with a start, Lee realized that this owl was not Errol, who he knew far too well.  It dropped a package next to the letter on his bed.

"Hoot!"

_…The package contains a Port Key.  Although it looks like an innocent wristwatch, pressing the button on its right side will bring you immediately to Hogwarts when you most need to return…_

---------------

The wood was cool underneath Peter's fingers, smooth and beautiful.  He'd never touched a wand like this one, never felt like power and confidence could be held in his hands.  On his eleventh birthday, his parents had brought him to Ollivander's, and it had taken hours before the old wizard had found a wand to fit Peter.  Even then, the wand had only emitted one meager and faint spark, but Peter had only shrugged, accepting the fact that he'd never be the great wizard that his father had been.  Now, though, he felt a glow under his fingers, and Peter was becoming aware of a kind of power he'd been so sure that he would never touch.

Still gripping the wand, he lifted the letter once more, rereading its unbelievable contents.  _This wand once belonged to Julius Grindelwald_, Dumbledore's letter told him.  _I took it after we dueled in April of 1945, though why I kept it, I do not know.  Now, however, I believe that it is meant for you._

_I remember that I once asked Ollivander about this very same wand.  He was quite puzzled by it, in truth, and finally responded that this wand was made for great evil, and for great good…_

---------------

On Avalon, it was different.  Bill sat alone in the darkness, having spent yet another nearly sleepless night.  There would be students on the island soon, he knew, and he needed his rest—but he could not sleep, and the newly arrived owl was just another excuse not to try.

_I cannot give you much, Bill, because there is little that will ease your pain. But I leave you a dreamcatcher, which will both shield you from your nightmares and record your dreams.  I know, right now, that you would rather forget, but when the day comes that you are ready to face them, your dreams will be there for you to see…_

---------------

_My dear friend_, the letter had begun, but he hadn't wanted to read it at all.  He had recognized the handwriting immediately, and had tried to scare the owl out of delivering it.  He'd even gone so far as to hex the offensive beast, and the owl _had _fled—but it had left the damn letter.  Reading it made his eyes cloud with tears that he had sworn he would not shed again.

_I leave you with the key to Casa Serpente, which was enclosed in a mysterious package I received only a few weeks ago.  Amazingly, the package was addressed to me by name, though the letter inside was dated May 7, 1000.  It was from Rowena Ravenclaw, written, she said, after Salazar Slytherin's death.  The key can only be used by a true son of the Slytherin House: a man who is both ambitious and powerful, yet still possesses courage and honor as well…_

---------------

Lily was sobbing.

_To you, my child, I leave the Philosopher's Stone; there is no one else to whom I can trust its safekeeping.  Several months ago, my friend Nicholas Flamel left the Stone in my care, because he feared that he was unable to protect it from Lord Voldemort, who has long wished for the immortality that the Stone can confer.  I send it to you, though, because the Philosopher's Stone may very well have other uses that we never had the time to uncover.  I hope that you and the Unicorn Group may succeed where I have not, and I trust you to destroy it if you cannot._

_I hate to leave you with this burden, Lily, but there is no one whom I have come to trust more…_

---------------

Sirius was sitting quietly in the drawing room when the owl arrived, startling him out of his reverie.  He hadn't slept that night, though he would swear up and down that he had, especially if Lily asked later.  But although he'd laid down for a bit, he hadn't felt right, and Sirius had known that if Voldemort was going to make another try for the Potters, this would be the night.  He'd already spitefully destroyed their home, forcing Lily and Harry to seek shelter elsewhere, but Sirius wouldn't put it beyond Voldemort to try to kill them now.  _Especially, he reminded himself, __since we derailed his attempt with the Dementors.  Thinking about the funeral still sent chills down Sirius' spine.  Even though he hadn't been surprised by the fact that the Dark Lord had chosen Dumbledore's funeral to attack, he would never have expected __that.  Because of that, he hadn't slept.  There were too many other possibilities to consider._

Besides, Sirius really didn't want to deal with the nightmares that exposure to so many Dementors would undoubtedly bring.  

He'd been playing with his wand quietly, aimlessly, letting his mind drift and wander.  He wasn't really thinking about the funeral in the wee hours of the morning, or even about Voldemort and the war.  Sirius was simply thinking back, looking around the ornate drawing room and remembering the happier memories.  Once, though it seemed so long ago and impossible to recall, he _had been happy here. He remembered how Regulus used to sit in that chair and beg Andromeda to tell him a story—_

The owl landed on the desk in front of him and reached out to peck Sirius' forehead without further ado.

"Hey!" His Auror's reflexes kept his head away from the bird even as Sirius glared at it.  He shoved the owl away with his free hand, deciding (with more maturity than he would usually credit himself with having) not to point his wand at the feathery monster.  "What did I ever do to _you_?"

"Hoot!"  A pointy beak impacted with his knuckles, making Sirius yelp.  Thinking fast, he checked to make sure that this wasn't a Hogwarts owl that he and his friends might have utilized in some _innocent prank all those years ago—but no, it bore the markings of a standard Post Owl, and Sirius knew that he'd never gotten in a scuffle with one of those.  Then he caught sight of the letter the owl gripped, and he shook his head ruefully._

"In a hurry, are you?"

Reaching out, Sirius took his letter, broke open the seal, and began to read.

_Dear Sirius,_

_There are not words to say to you what needs to be said.  You have taken a choice upon yourself that others would not make—and in doing so, you have chosen to walk down the loneliest of lonely roads.  I admire you for that choice, Sirius, more than I can ever say, though I do regret that it was left to you to defeat an evil others have refused to even face._

_I won't waste your time with useless words of advice.  What can be said has already been done, and I believe that you have seen what lies in this future even more clearly than I.  What I can leave you with is all the knowledge that I possess—and a journal written by a young Tom Marvolo Riddle as he transformed himself into Lord Voldemort._

_This journal was stolen in April of 1981 by a courageous young man who had come to regret the choices he made. Before his death, this young man left the journal in my care.  He knew that he was going to die, but he accepted the consequences of the road he had taken.  This man was your brother, Sirius, and no matter what you think of him, he died as befitting a true Black—fighting for what he believed in._

_In that, Regulus taught me a valuable lesson: even in the deepest darkness, there is still hope.  God speed, Sirius.  I wish you the best._

**_Albus Dumbledore_**

There were other gifts and other behests, of course, but the owls that made their deliveries in the wee hours of the morning were special.  They traveled unnoticed by both sides in the war, leaving behind the last legacy of the greatest wizard of the previous age.  

And as dawn broke, one wizard sat alone.  He held a small journal in steady hands, and he glanced briefly at the ornate tapestry that hung on the far wall.  A bitter smile creased his face, and then he rose.  Slowly, he walked over to the open window to watch the sun rise, Tom Riddle's journal still held in his hand.  He looked at it, and then studied the horizon.  His features hardened.

"Let the darkness come."

---------------


	8. Chapter 8: A Black's Worst Nightmare

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Eight: A Black's Worst Nightmare

"Sirius!" Harry shouted as he rushed through the front hall.  "There's someone at the door!"

During the attack on his childhood home, Harry and his mother had come to Grimmauld Place for safety and security.  Now, with the destruction of Godric's Hollow, Sirius insisted that they stay, at least until a better solution could be found.  Harry and his mum had spent most of the day before at St. Mungo's with his father and returned late, but now that it was morning, Harry had channeled all his restless energy into exploring the ancient Black home, a place he'd heard his parents speak of but had never seen.  The mixture of elegance and antiquity at Grimmauld Place had helped distract Harry from recent events, which had started with Godric's Hollow's destruction and only gotten worse with the Dementor attack at Dumbledore's funeral.  Consequently, he'd spent the morning wandering while his mother made political contacts and struggled to help his father piece the government back together.

Sirius' answer faded away somewhere between the room he was in upstairs and the front hall, so Harry made his way to the door.  Opening it revealed a beautiful woman with silvery blonde hair and hard features; however, when she looked at Harry, an expression of extreme distaste crossed her face.  She looked as if there was something awful smelling stuck underneath her nose, and Harry had the feeling that _he_ was that something.

"Can I help you?" he asked cautiously, beginning to regret having opened the door at all.  The witch looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place why.

Her pretty face twisted into a sneer.  "No, Potter.  I doubt you can."

Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Get out of my way, boy," she continued acidly.  "I don't need to see the likes of you contaminating my family's home."  She started to push the door open, and Harry's shock kept him rooted to the spot, staring.  Never in his life had he experienced such bald-faced animosity, and he hadn't even done anything to deserve it!  Abruptly, he was reminded of Draco Malfoy.

"Your manners have deteriorated, 'Cissa."  A larger and stronger had stopped the door's motion, and Harry sensed Sirius' sudden presence behind him.  

"Cousin," she responded stiffly.

Startled, Harry looked up at his godfather, but Sirius' face had tightened and his eyes were dark.  He spoke formally, "What brings you to Grimmauld Place?"

"I require a word with you."

"And you begin by insulting my godson," Sirius replied flatly.  "Such pettiness is beneath you, Narcissa.  I expected better."

"Let us not compete over who has further dishonored our family," she replied archly.  "And speaking of manners, will you leave me standing upon the doorstep like a common stranger, or will you invite me in?"

"I'm not in the practice of inviting Death Eaters in for tea."

She didn't even flinch.  "I come as your family, not as your enemy."  Something flashed in blue eyes that were identical to Sirius' own.  "I am not here as a Malfoy, either.  I come here as a Black."

"And neither would be welcome in my home."  Sirius' chin came up; his eyes were cold steel as they met hers, as if he was daring the witch to disagree.  He paused for a long moment, and then finally stepped aside.  "But I'll not dishonor our family's _older _traditions by insulting you.  Come in, cousin.  I'll hear what you have to say."

---------------

They'd set up the Portkeys very carefully, minimizing error and synchronizing the timing perfectly.  Although such precision was a trademark of their bloody business, twice the care went into setting up this rendezvous above all others.  They couldn't afford mistakes this time.  They couldn't afford discovery—or betrayal.  Survival itself hung in the balance, and if something went wrong, all their efforts might very well turn out to be for nothing.

Simultaneously, twenty Auror Candidates materialized on Avalon.  Portkeys had been delivered in secret to twenty-one, along with brutally honest letters describing the situation.  The Portkeys would work for one individual and at one time only.  Once the candidates had arrived there would be no turning back; they would not leave the training facility, save as Aurors.  There was no need to describe the dangers inherent in their choice; the witches and wizards who received the Portkeys had already been members of Auror Training Class 4904 when the Ministry was destroyed.  Although they had yet to arrive for Phase Two of the training cycle, each had completed Testing and Grounding, or the first phase.  Theoretically, they all knew what they were getting into.

Bill Weasley scowled.  He hadn't expected to be knee-deep in training at this early point in his career (usually, the most senior Aurors were responsible for the phase that the old timers _un_fondly called Hades' Quarter), but he was one of the trio of primary instructors for Phase Two.  Normally, he would have been a junior instructor at his age—but the Aurors' numbers had been so far depleted that there were no junior instructors.  He, Hestia Jones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were Frank Longbottom's only three training cadre, and of the trio, only Hestia had any experience at all.   Frank, of course, had been the Senior Candidate Instructor for two years before his capture, but their group was still greener than green.

He sighed and tried to wipe the irritated expression off of his face.  Bill understood why he and Frank had both been delegated to training duty; they needed time to readjust to the Auror's lifestyle and get their feet back under them.  Had anyone other than Sirius Black given them the assignment, Bill might have been tempted to refuse, but one simply couldn't look at Azkaban's longest-term prisoner and tell him that he didn't understand the emotional damage that Dementors and the Dark Lord's torturers could cause.  _Especially, Bill mused, _when he's the man who faced Voldemort down and lived_._

Looking out at the candidates, though made Bill feel old and out of place.  Several of them were glancing around with ill-concealed curiosity, yet others were staring at the trio of primary instructors with apprehension.  Aside from Kingsley, who'd been due for a stint as a _junior instructor, not one of them had been intended to work with this class—but all five of the other Aurors who had been assigned to 4904 were dead._

Kingsley stepped forward, speaking in his deep bass voice.  "Welcome to Avalon," he said.  "You are Auror Candidate Class Forty-Nine-oh-Four, and you will either leave this facility as Aurors or not at all."

---------------

She took the tea without blinking, which Harry viewed as an amazing display of trust that did not really exist.  Narcissa _Malfoy_, Sirius' _cousin_, sipped the tea calmly, eyeing Harry's godfather over the rim of her cup.

"Not worried about poison, cousin?" Sirius asked her, his tone more mocking than playful.

"You're far too much of a Gryffindor to indulge in such Slytherin behavior," she responded, sneering.   Then Narcissa's blue eyes cut to Harry.  "I don't suppose it's any use asking you to send the boy away."

"No.  It's not."

She shrugged.  "A pity."

"You aren't here to drink my tea," Sirius retorted coldly.  Harry had never seen his godfather so brusque or so aloof, even the day he had come to Hogwarts with the news of the Ministry's destruction and Dumbledore's death.  This seemed to be an extension of an age-old battle of wits; both parties were slipping into roles that they clearly knew well.  But there was no friendliness in the exchange, no familiar banter or pleasantries.  Instead there was icy formality and hatred on two very similar faces.  "Get on with it."

"Very well."  She sat back and took another slow sip of tea.  "I bring you an offer."

"Do you now?" Sirius' black eyebrows rose, and he met her cool gaze with a scornful twitch of his lips.

Narcissa set her cup down in the saucer without reacting to the taunt, folding her hands primly in her lap.  "The Dark Lord has decided to give you a final chance."

Startled, Harry took his eyes off of the woman who had to be Malfoy's mother to glance at his godfather.  _A final chance?_ he wondered.  Something cold wormed its way into his gut, and he knew suddenly that no good would come of this.  Sirius, however, did not respond—nor did he move, or even blink.  Instead, he only stared, all traces of amusement having faded from his face.  He was serious now, motionless and distant, giving nothing away.  Finally, Narcissa continued, seemingly unfazed by the silence.

"Should you decide," she began precisely, "to enter the Dark Lord's service, all past transgressions will be forgiven.  You will find, also, that the rewards our Lord gives to the loyal are most generous."

Again, Sirius was silent, and this time it seemed to unnerve her slightly.  Long seconds ticked by.

"You would do well to accept, Sirius," she pressed.  "You might well save your friends by making the right choice." 

Sirius blinked.  "No thanks," he finally replied.  "I've heard what his promises are worth."

Narcissa's blue eyes flashed.  "You would do well to consider the risks."

"I have, I assure you," Sirius replied gravely.

"Have you now?" she mocked him, returning his words from before. 

"My choice will not change."

"I thought as much."  Narcissa stood suddenly, glaring down at him and radiating power.  "But remember, when the dark end comes, that the offer was made."

"You know," he said very softly, "I think that's the first sign of weakness I've ever seen him show."

Her face reddened immediately and her lips twitched into an angry snarl.  "You are a fool," Narcissa replied furiously.  "And you will die as such—alone and having forsaken your family's honor.  Mark my words, _cousin_.  You will pay for that."

She spun on her heel to leave, but stopped in her tracks as Sirius spoke again.

"It really irks you, doesn't it," he asked abruptly, "that the last Black went good?"

"You," she spat, her blue eyes on fire, "are not a Black."

"Not by your standards."  Finally, Sirius stood, smiling grimly.  "But I am a Black, and when we come to that dark end you speak of, you will know.  Believe me, Narcissa, you will know."

---------------

Each Auror Candidate Section shared a small common room deep in the depths of Avalon.  Looking around it made Tonks scowl; it wasn't as if space was at a premium here at the Auror's legendary training center.  From what she'd seen, the opposite was rather the case—otherwise, there would have been no way that for all the candidates to have their own rooms, which they did.  Even though those rooms were pitiably small, they housed only one trainee each, and Tonks wasn't a fool, despite what certain professors had said about her in the past.  If they had the space to give each candidate their own room, there was certainly enough space for a bigger common room!

_Crash_.

"Ow!"

Every head in the room turned to stare at her, and Tonks blushed crimson.  She'd tripped over an end table that she had completely missed noticing when she'd come into the room.  It skittered across the room until the table came to rest against one of the couches, but no one other than Tonks noticed where it stopped.  They were all too busy glaring at her.  She swallowed.  _What an auspicious beginning._

"Uhh…hi."  Tonks smiled sheepishly.  "Sorry 'bout that."

Finally, one of the other witches smiled.  She had blonde hair and green eyes, and Tonks swore that she recognized her from Hogwarts, but she couldn't place the finely-boned face.  

"It's all right.  No one liked that coffee table, anyway."  Rising, the new witch held out a hand.  "I'm Dana Lockhart.  It's nice to meet you."

Tonks took the offered hand gratefully.  "Nymphadora Tonks," she replied, then added hastily, "but everyone calls me Tonks."

"With a name like that, who wouldn't?" a third voice intruded, and Tonks didn't miss the irritated glance that Lockhart threw at the seated wizard.  He didn't bother to rise, just flashed her a dazzling smile (with teeth that shiny, she _knew they had to be charmed) and introduced himself.  "Jason Clearwater."_

"Hello," she replied, straining to be polite before she broke off from his gaze as soon as humanely possible.

Only then did Tonks notice the second wizard in the room; he was shorter than his companion, and built a little heavier than she would have expected an Auror candidate to be.  However, unlike the others, this wizard did seem vaguely familiar, and Tonks had to fight the urge to frown.  Maybe she'd sat next to him in one of the classes during Phase One.  Auror's Potions, perhaps…?  Frantically, she searched her mind for his name, because Tonks was positive that she'd partnered with him more than once—_Got it!_

"'Lo, Horace," she smiled with relief and trying to act casual.  All the same, she was certain that she fooled no one.

"Hey, Tonks."  The former Slytherin smiled at back her with a bit of hesitation.  He seemed distinctly uncomfortable with their surroundings, especially with Jason Clearwater, who Tonks distantly recalled as another Slytherin, though several years younger than herself.  "How are you?"

"Good."  She shrugged, glancing around the room and counting heads once again.  Tonks frowned.  "Wait, I thought there were supposed to be five of us?"

"There are."  Dana Lockhart shrugged artlessly.  "Cornelia is _composing_ herself."

Horace Smeltings snorted.  "She had a bad run-in with Longbottom when she tried to use the fire to call home.  He tore her up one side and back down again."

"Never seen someone so nasty," Lockhart commented idly.  "Or so creatively talented at making someone feel absolutely horrible."

"She ought to join us shortly," Clearwater interjected.  "Until then, I suggest you sit down and relax.  Merlin knows, we'll probably need our energy later."

Tonks scowled at his knowledgeable tone, but she knew he was right.  Her limbs already felt heavy from the day's workload and the absolute chaos of Phase Two (she now completely understood why they called it "Hades' Quarter"), and she knew that things would get far worse before they got any better.

She sat, and an uneasy silence followed.

Obviously, the other three candidates (plus the missing Cornelia) in the common room were in her section, but they weren't what Tonks had expected at all.  She tried to study the others subtly, trying to think of a more unusual group, but she couldn't.  She didn't know any of her companions well, but now that she had names to associate with the faces, she knew of them.  Unconsciously, Tonks ran a hand through her (currently) shoulder length and dull brown hair.  It was her natural color, something she'd inherited from her father, though she had been changing it for as long as she could remember.  Tonks' features, however, were classic Black in their natural form.  She snorted.  _Perhaps that's why I change my appearance so often._

"What's so funny?" Clearwater asked, making Tonks start.  She was always doing that—letting her inner feelings show on the outside without meaning to.

"Nothing, really," she replied.  "Just thinking."

"Speaking of thinking," Lockhart interjected, "what do you all think we'll be facing tonight?"

"Whatever it is, I hope it includes getting our wands back," Smeltings answered immediately, making the others nod in fervent agreement.  One of the first things that the instructors had done was to seize all the candidates' wands, and they had been left without magic in that afternoon's chaos.  After ten years of constant dependence upon her wand, Tonks found working without it extremely difficult, not to mention very unsettling.

"No kidding," she breathed.  "That wasn't much fun."

Smeltings smiled crookedly.  "Here's to hoping that, whatever we do, it doesn't include more of _that._"

"Yeah." Lockhart shuddered.  "Today definitely goes down on my list of the top ten worst experiences of my life."

"Ten, hell!" Clearwater snorted.  "Top three, at least."

Tonks grinned.  _Yeah, this falls right up there with meeting Aunt Narcissa for the first time, or listening to Aunt Bella swear up and down that she'd kill my father when I was three._  Her family, she reflected with a certain amount of glee, certainly wouldn't approve of where she was now.  "Well, look at it on the bright side," she remarked.  "It can't get much worse."

"Sure it can't."  Lockhart rolled her eyes.  "Did you hear Longbottom?  'Lesson number one: life isn't fair.'"

"And this is only the first day," Smeltings added mournfully.  "I'm sure that they don't waste all the tricks right off.  There's bound to be worse to come."

"Obviously, though, it won't include calling home," Clearwater remarked dryly, and the foursome exchanged grins.

They'd known that security at Avalon was tight (hell, they didn't even know where Avalon _was_, though Tonks suspected that it was an island), but Cornelia Crouch had definitely underestimated the Aurors' obsession with secrecy.  There were Wizarding fires on Avalon, of course, but as Crouch had discovered, that didn't exactly mean that candidates were welcome to their use.

"Someone probably ought to go drag her out of her misery," Lockhart commented.  "After all, I'm sure we're all going to make stupid mistakes over the next two months, so we might as well get used to suffering together."

"There's no need," another voice came from the doorway.  Cornelia Crouch stepped into the common room with a slight smile on her face, and _she didn't trip over anything.  Crouch was finely boned and had dark hard and eyes to match—she was almost the exact personification of what Tonks had spent her entire childhood wanting to look like.  And to top it all off, she moved with a kind of grace that even a unicorn might envy.  "I decided that being alone was not going to help me," she added.  "Besides, I came to the same conclusion.  We might as well get used to the fact that misery loves company."_

---------------

The door clicked shut, and Harry stared at his godfather in the silence.  For a long moment, Sirius stood completely still, seeming frozen and deep in thought.  His handsome face was unreadable and his blue eyes were still dark, which made him .  Finally, Sirius shook his head and turned away from the door.  "Come on, kid.  Let's find something more interesting to do."

Together, they walked down the front hall, quiet until Harry could stand the silence no longer.

"Sirius?" he asked.  "Was that Draco Malfoy's mother?"

"Yes."  Sirius shot him a sideways glance.  "I suppose that's how you would think of her."

"And she's your _cousin_?" Harry tired to keep the disgust out of his voice, but was certain he failed.  It wasn't like he thought less of Sirius because of the fact, but he'd always imagined that his godfather's family would be more like his own, with a legacy of fighting darkness and opposing evil.  Still, every family had it's—

"Yes, she is."  Sirius stopped.  "My family is a very dark one, Harry," he explained.  "Very old and very dark.  I'm surprised that no one has told you that before.  Most of my living relatives are involved in the war—on Voldemort's side.  I was the second Auror _ever_, but there are many Death Eaters in the family."

Harry stared at him.  "Who?"

"Other than 'Cissa?  Bellatrix Lestrange, for one.  She's Narcissa's older sister."  His voice was completely level.  "And my brother was."

"You have a brother?"

"Had."  Sirius' voice went cold.  "Regulus bought into the family creed.  '_Toujours Pur_', they say: 'Always Pure.'  Powerful and pure and prejudiced, the Blacks, above the law and without morality.  Regulus believed it too easily, and wanted to 'live up to our heritage'."  His lips twisted into a bitter snarl.  "But he wasn't a bad kid.  He realized he was wrong, and tried to get out.  That's when he died."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

"So am I," his godfather replied softly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "But the family you're born to isn't nearly as important as those you choose to call friends."

Harry frowned.  "But you told her—"

"To remember that I am a Black?" Harry nodded.  "Oh, I am.  I've the power and the wealth and the connections to back them up, too, because my dear old Mum never did manage to disinherit me, no matter how hard she tried.  But I'll use those resources to fight against darkness, not for it."

Only once before had Harry see his godfather so coolly confident and serious.  He was accustomed to the laughing and happy man who Sirius usually was, despite the haunted look ten years in Voldemort's hands had left in his eyes.  But there as more to Sirius Black than pranking and close friendships.  There was something deeper and more powerful, and Harry was beginning to understand just what Sirius had meant earlier, what had angered and frightened Narcissa Malfoy so much.

Suddenly Sirius smiled. "Enough of this serious stuff," he said.  "This is your summer holiday.  Let's find something fun to do."

---------------

"Go, go, go, go!"

Organized chaos.  Insanity.  Pressure and intensity.  They all had a purpose, despite the disorderly appearance of twenty candidates rushing in every which direction, harried and harassed by three instructors.  Spells flashed in the air, washing the large room in a rainbow of colors.  Most were completely harmless, the worst of them being a light Stinger Spell, but they, too, served a purpose.  Chaos and pressure.  Auror training had three basic tenants: Violence, Intensity, and Discipline.  The first two the instructors could provide; the last the candidates would have to learn themselves.  

BOOM.

"Get down!"

The noise was harmless, of course; it was only a simple charm.  But the candidates dropped to the ground as if ordered to do so by the Dark Lord himself.  They'd been pushed and pressured from the moment Kingsley had finished speaking, and three hours in, things were beginning to go insane.  Bill remembered his own early days on Avalon with very little clarity—everything was a blur up until at least a month or two in, when he and his fellow candidates had finally settled into a routine.  Until then, though, he hardly recalled any specifics.  He only remembered chaos and wondering helplessly if _anyone at all was in control of the disaster he'd chosen to be a part of—_

But a subtle glance over his shoulder revealed the watchful eyes of Frank Longbottom, who Bill knew all too well was in perfect control of the situation.  Two words from Frank would shut everything down.  Auror training was meant to seem uncontrolled, but in truth it wasn't.  Now, especially, the division couldn't afford anything to be out of control—not with a formerly ten month long training cycle trimmed down to only two.  _Two months._  For a moment, Bill was staggered by the insanity of that decision, but he knew it was necessary.

Still, it made his job a lot harder.

Even as an instructor, though, he hardly had time to think, and he tore his mind off of the impossible task they'd been given.  There was too much to do and too little time to do it in—which was the story of Auror training, of course—and as an instructor, he had to do it better and faster than anyone else.  The craziness was an important part of the process, he knew; it sped reaction times and made the candidates no stranger to working under pressure…but it was _crazy_.  And borderline out of control, even at the best of times.

A purple-lighted spell whizzed by his ear, and Bill ducked, pausing briefly to cast a dirty glare in Hestia's direction.  Either she'd narrowly missed him on purpose (which he wouldn't put past her at all) or Hestia was falling below her normal high standards of control.  But he could ask her later; now was the time for rapid spell work and confusion, which he could provide in spades.

"OUTSIDE!"

For such a quiet and mature man, Frank Longbottom could be unbelievably loud when he wanted to be.  Until that bellow, Bill had thought of Kingsley Shacklebolt as the single loudest man he had ever met.  Frank, however, had just drowned out three Senior Instructors' worth of shouts without any effort at all, and the twenty candidates scattered, fleeing towards the suddenly open doors.  _And he didn't even use a charm to do it!  Grinning, Bill sent a wave of flashing light in their wake, which, although perfectly harmless and far above their heads, made several of the candidates jump._

Their reactions didn't indicate any particular lack of courage, though.  The main reason for the jumpiness was that the candidates were wandless and had no way to fight back if they needed to.  Upon examination, the situation didn't exactly seem fair for the trainees, but then again, it wasn't mean to be.  This exercise was a lesson in resourcefulness and a very true example of how bad things could get when you didn't have magic to rely upon.  One by one, the instructors were singling out individuals who'd been foolish enough to "die" and sending them elsewhere; as the candidates poured outside their numbers dropped to fifteen—there were a few cases of people simply wandering straight into the path of a spell that, if it had been real, would have been fatal.  Or at least incapacitating.  One of the candidates dared to object, but the others went quietly.  The one rebel was silenced by Hestia's hostile glare, though he did walk away with a furious expression.  But life wasn't pretty, and Auror training wasn't meant to be, either.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw a slim young woman with mousy brown hair pause to pull up a chubbier man when he fell.  Together, they took off running once more, until she tripped and the other had to pick her up off the ground.

Night was falling, and Bill grinned into the darkness.  It was still light enough for him to see when a group of four students came together to his left, half-hidden under an outcropping of rock.  They were clearly conspiring, which was good in that it showed an early attempt at teamwork—but the effort was bad because it wouldn't work.  What the candidates didn't realize was that Training Field One had been designed to put the trainees at every disadvantage—and provide the instructors with ample cover, too.

Bill crept forward, moving from tree to tree.  The spells that he and the others had laid while the candidates were eating dinner were activating now, showering the hapless trainees with sparks and deafening them with loud noises.  There seemed to be a full-out attack coming from their rear, and almost all of them turned to glance apprehensively in that direction.  Their distraction turned it into a golden opportunity for Bill, who jumped around a final tree and cast a spell at the trainees.

Within seconds, all four of them were covered in green paint.

One of them screamed, and Bill laughed aloud.  Everything was going just fine.

---------------


	9. Chapter 9: Daring to Dream

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Nine: Daring to Dream

They'd taken to meeting in obscure places.

It was France this time, a nation whose language they both spoke, though Julia did so with far more skill than Sirius ever had.  But then again, she'd always loved foreign languages, and Sirius had had French shoved down his none-too-willing throat by his overbearing mother.  Surprisingly, he hadn't managed to forget all that he'd learned, and an hour spent waiting in a sidewalk café brushed a great deal of rust off of his forgotten skills.  

His practiced eyes spotted Julia as soon as she entered the café, and he luxuriated in the ability to simply watch the woman he loved.  Merlin knew, he saw her rarely enough—Julia was often out of the country, digging through Wizarding tombs in service of Voldemort's never-ending search for immortality and riches.  Sirius could easily count the number of times that they had been able to be together, and much to his chagrin, that number wasn't high.  _Of course, he reflected wryly, _that isn't all Julia's fault.__

Neither of them should have been there, of course, but they had to see one another and both had much to hide.  For Julia, the risk was actually less, despite her true role in the matter.  Acting as Voldemort's agent, she was _supposed _to spend time with Sirius, regaining his trust until she could deliver him into the Dark Lord's eager hands.  The fact that she did not ever intend to do so had little bearing on their situation; until Voldemort became aware of that, she would continue to play the part.

Sirius' situation was a bit more complicated.  The number of people who knew that Julia Malfoy had turned spy for the Order of the Phoenix could be counted on two hands, but the number who suspected that she was a Death Eater was extremely high.  Although Sirius might not have given a damn about his own reputation, in the current political climate, he _had to.  Like it or not, he'd emerged as one of the Order's leaders—and the light side's champions—after the destruction no the Ministry of Magic, and if reporters like Rita Skeeter could even hint that he might be on the other side, their cause could be damaged.  Not fatally, of course, but deeply enough that he didn't want to face the consequences._

But he left off the darker thoughts and studied Julia as she approached.  Dark circles framed her eyes, and she looked more tired than he'd seen her in years—the last time he remembered her being this was back when he'd been a rookie Auror and she'd been studying for the N.E.W.T.s.  Her blonde hair was a little longer than she usually liked to keep it, too, which was another sign that she'd been very busy and hadn't taken the time to have it cut.  Or even to cast a Hair Trimming Charm…but that was Julia.  When she concentrated on a project, nearly every thing else went by the wayside, appearances included.  Frankly, Sirius was slightly surprised that she'd remembered to put on Muggle clothing for this meeting, but he wasn't surprised to note the pad she was carrying around in case she had a sudden thought that she simply _had to write down.  __After all, he mused, __"if you don't write it down, it never happened."  Sirius resisted the urge to laugh.  Even worn-out and slightly unkempt, she was still beautiful._

"Bonjour," Julia greeted him, slipping into the seat across from him with a smile.  "You're early."

A grin flashed across his face.  "Institutional paranoia."

She chuckled, making Sirius get the sudden urge to crush her into his arms and kiss her for all he was worth, but he restrained himself.  _Later, he promised himself.  But the temptation was strong, despite the need to maintain their covers and not attract attention.  Oh, it was strong—and in her dancing gray eyes, he saw the same desire.  Sirius snorted.  At least he wasn't the only one who had been forced to become less impulsive over time._

"Really?" she teased him lightly.

"Yeah," Sirius' smile became rueful, and he shrugged quietly, trying to keep his voice light.  "I guess we all have to grow up sometime."

"Even you?" Julia's voice was surprisingly sad.

"All of us," Sirius forced a half smile.  "Especially now."

They were both quiet for a long moment, and for a moment, Sirius felt the oppressive pressure that he sometimes remembered that he was under.  But Julia smiled, and one look was enough to tear his mind away from darker thoughts.

"Enough business."  She reached across the table to grasp his hand in her own.  "I'm starving.  Let's eat."

---------------

"You sent for me, My Lord?"

Snape kept his voice level, and waited on his knees to be recognized.  Voldemort had sent for him in broad daylight, which was unusual enough for the Dark Lord—powerful though he was, Voldemort was also a highly practical individual, which meant that he was aware of the restrictions that a teaching career placed upon his highest ranked spy.  But this was July, and the summer holidays had always meant all former rules went out the window.

"Indeed I did."  One long-fingered hand beckoned for Snape to rise.  "Take a walk with me, Severus."

"Yes, My Lord."  Snape stood gracefully and fell in a half step behind Voldemort, careful to stay to the Dark Lord's left.  Keeping his expression attentive, he strode through the quiet corridors of Azkaban by his lord's side.

The island fortress was silent now, without its former population of suffering prisoners.  Twenty-seven prisoners of war had escaped in the Order-led raid, and one Death Eater had died as well.  Voldemort's furious retribution for such audacity had been obvious for all to see, and Snape knew that the destruction of the Ministry of Magic was not where it would end.  Nor, however, had the Ministry attack even been the beginning.  Before his Death Eaters had gone anywhere near the Ministry, Voldemort had carried out a bit of retaliation of his own.  Every one of his servants had been punished for their role in the affair, even his favorites.  Lucius Malfoy had suffered for not uncovering the fact that the attack on his home was meant to be a bluff, and Bellatrix Lestrange for allowing Azkaban to be breached in the first place.  Everyone had paid—except for one.

Severus Snape had been the only Death Eater to escape the purge unscathed.  Saving the Dark Lord's life had even brought him praise, which was as rare as kindness in Voldemort's service.

In the end, he'd learned that his actions were what had saved him from participating in the Ministry attack.  That attack had been the Death Eaters' repayment, the only way Voldemort had given them to atone for their mistakes.  Thus, as the one individual who had not made a fool of himself in Azkaban, Snape had been excused.

"I have made a recent visit to the former Department of Mysteries," Voldemort said after several moments of silence, startling Snape out of his reverie.  

"My Lord?"

"There, I retrieved a certain prophecy made in July of 1980."  Suddenly, the Dark Lord stopped and skewered Snape with a red-eyed glare.  Severus bowed his head, struggling not to hold his breath.  The direct, high-pitched voice sent a shiver racing down his spine.  "Do you know of this prophecy, Severus?"

"Yes, My Lord," he answered quickly, then hesitated.  "But I only know of it, Master—not what it contains."

"Oh?" the other hissed.

Severus studied the floor, his heart pounding.  Would the simple truth be enough?  With Voldemort, it rarely was.  "I know that it prophesied the birth of the one who can defeat you, My Lord, but I know not to whom it referred.  I spoke to Sybil Trelaweny about it some years ago, but she has no memory of what she said."

A long moment of silence passed, in which the Death Eater tried not to brace himself too obviously.

"Look at me, Severus."  He could not refuse, and reluctantly brought his head up to meet those fearful eyes.  He knew what the Dark Lord's intentions were, of course—Snape was a student of Legilimency and knew the eye contact was an important aspect in what the uneducated called 'mind reading'.  Given the circumstances, he could only be grateful that he was _not _lying, for attempting to lie to Voldemort was always a chancy proposition…even with his skills.

That knowledge, however, did not keep him from feeling like his soul was being read like an open book.  Knowing that Voldemort could not actually read his thoughts did not help.  It never did.  Even Dementors could not make him feel so cold…

"You tell the truth," the cold voice concluded after a lifetime had passed.  "Good."

All he could do was bow his head obediently.  Still, he was walking on a narrow ledge, and one step to either side could mean instant death and doom.

"Trelaweny's knowledge no longer matters.  I have the prophecy."

"That is excellent news, My Lord."  Why did he feel like he was still stuck on that ledge?  He should have felt relieved, but…

"Is it?"

Replying somehow did not seem to be the politic thing to do; instead, he waited.  The silence stretched on, and Snape began to wonder if this was indeed a test.  So many things were—and yet, his instincts told him that the Dark Lord was merely thinking, calculating.  So he waited.

"It seems to me that I have become distracted lately, Severus," Voldemort said coldly.  "I have done my enemies the courtesy of allowing Harry Potter to live for eleven years.

"The boy will not reach twelve."

---------------

"I've got good news."

James grinned at Lily as she walked into the room.  He'd been exhausted by the funeral, Lily knew, and though he'd tried to play tough and claim that he didn't' need to return to St. Mungo's, the healer's care had definitely been good for him.  Color had returned to his drawn face, and he looked the best she had seen him look in the twenty-six days since the Ministry's destruction.  

"Really?" Lily sat down on the white-sheeted hospital bed, taking his hand in her own.  "Tell me."

James' smile was contagious.  "Martha says that they might have finally found a spell to fix my legs."

"Oh?" Her heart leapt.  "_Really_?"

Martha Blackwood was the healer in charge of James' care.  In fact, she was the St. Mungo's best, assigned to the task that had baffled every other witch and wizard at the hospital.  There weren't many injuries that magical medicine could not heal, but James' condition had defied every spell that the healers could cast.  Had he simply severed his spine, a single—if complicated—spell could heal it…yet none worked.  To top it off, James claimed that he could feel pain in both his legs _and_ his back—yet neither would respond to any sort of stimuli.

"She says that they've been doing some research and uncovered some new spells."  James' face wrinkled hopefully.  "I think this might be it."

"When will they try it?" They had already experienced so many might-have-beens that Lily was almost afraid to hope again—yet she had to, for James' sake, if not her own.  There had to be a solution somewhere.  There had to be a point when this would all end.

"In a few days," he replied.  "Maybe as soon as Friday."

She squeezed his hand.  "I hope it works, James."

"Me, too." 

---------------

They walked along the coastline together, hand in hand and dressed in Muggle clothing.  Both their respective sets of parents would have had apoplexies over that fact, but neither cared.  Julia occasionally imagined that the collective Malfoy line was turning over in the grave because of her actions and her choices—but sometimes she wondered.  All in all, who had proved to be the better Malfoy: her or Lucius?  She supposed that her open attitude about Muggles and Muggleborns wouldn't earn her any points, but then again, not every Malfoy had been a monster.  Yes, her family was ancient and held fast to its traditions, but they were not fools.  Nor had they been pureblooded maniacs before Voldemort's rise.  The Blacks, she reflected with a sideways glance at Sirius, _had _been, but even then, there were decent ones among them.

Sirius caught her watching his face and smiled roguishly.  Moments like this where when one glance from him could make her forget all the painful years that had passed, and could make Julia think that she was a sixteen year old girl again, for whom love was all that mattered and her parents' approval her only worry.

Now her parents were dead, though, and she was hardly sixteen.

"You're thinking," her lover said quietly.

Despite herself, Julia chuckled.  "It's not the first time, you realize."

"No?" he teased, squeezing his arm around her shoulder.  Sirius' body was warm against hers, and Julia could have stayed there, safe and comfortable, for a lifetime if only the world would have let her.

"_No_."  She rolled her eyes and tried to sound cross, but it was downright impossible to do so.  They laughed quietly together, luxuriating in the moment of peace that neither knew could or would last…but both were willing to pretend.

"So, what are you thinking about?"

"The past," Julia replied honestly.  "About how much things have changed."

"Yes."  His voice was suddenly grave.  "They have."

She swallowed, hearing the emotion and strain behind his words.  "Being with you, being like this…it makes me feel almost like we did before, when the world wasn't like this.  When we hadn't had to spend ten years apart and didn't have to be on opposite sides."

"Me too," Sirius admitted after a slight hesitation.  "I wish…"

He trailed off into the silence, and she knew what he meant.  _I wish that it didn't have to be like this.  I wish that we didn't have to lie and we didn't have to hide.  I wish that I could give you back the ten years you spent in hell, and restore to you the innocence that you lost along the way.  I wish that everything was different.  I wish that we weren't at war.    I wish that I could tell you that everything will be okay, and have it not be a lie_.  Julia sighed.

"Yeah," she whispered.  "I wish."

Sirius' arm tightening around her was his only response and they walked a little further in silence, not needing to speak.  They spent so little time together these days, separated by more than just lies.  Though Julia understood the necessity of that separation, it still tore her up inside.  Every time she saw Sirius, the shadows had deepened in his eyes, and the burden he carried grew.  The silence lengthened, though, and she knew that she ought to say something, but was unable to find the words.  She loved him more than simple feelings could express, and wished, somehow, that she could make things better for him.  But there was no way to say what she meant.

"How are you?" she asked instead.

"Fine," Sirius answered immediately.

"Bullshit," Julia replied softly.  

She felt him tense through his arm around her shoulders, and almost regretted calling his bluff.  But there was no mistaking how automatic his reply was; it was too casual, too easily given.  Julia knew Sirius too well to fall for that; even after ten years apart and hardly a year back together—in which they hardly saw one another at all—she could hear the lie.  She hoped, though, that his temper wouldn't get in the way of his better sense, and keep him from understanding that she asked because she cared.  Not because she wanted to pry.

After a long moment, Sirius relaxed.  "I'm dealing with it," he relented.

"You sound so unhappy."

"It's not that I'm unhappy, Julia, just that…" His head dropped as they walked, and she saw him study his feet as he tried to sort out his thoughts.  "It's not like I'd expect it to be.  I mean, this isn't anything I expected at all, but I feel so…empty."

"Empty?"

"I'm ten years out of my time.  Sometimes, I'm so busy, so involved, that I forget how everything has changed, how the world I left is not the one that I'm living in now.  But in moments like these, when I'm trying so hard to be the man that I once was, I remember…" Sirius trailed off, and Julia squeezed her arm tighter around his waist.  "And I realize that I'm not.  I'm not the same man that I was ten years ago.  I can't be."

"Sirius—"

"No.  I've changed.  I've become focused, colder, and something dark lives inside me now that I can't even begin to define.  These past months, I've tried so hard to be the person that I was, tried to pretend that the emptiness, that the pain, would pass.  Now, though, I realize that's permanent.  It's no longer something from which I can hide; this change, these differences, are a part of me.  And I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't be the old me.  More importantly, I can't afford to."

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm not blind, Julia," Sirius responded without hesitation.  "No matter how much I try to deny it, I know where this has to end.  For better or worse, I made a choice.  And when the end comes, I know who is going to stand face to face with Voldemort."

Her throat was impossibly tight.  This was the stuff that nightmares were made of.  "You."

He nodded silently, and for several steps they walked without speaking, each caught up in their own thoughts.  For a moment, Julia was tempted to argue with his matter-of-fact assessment of the situation, but she knew that doing so would be pointless.  No matter what they both wished for, Sirius had spoken the truth.

"So there you have it.  The new and 'improved' Sirius Black."  His face twisted into a wry smile.

"I don't find you that different," Julia replied quietly, wishing that his voice didn't lurk so close to bitterness.

"No?"

"No.  Not, at least, in the ways that matter to me." She leaned her head against his shoulder.  "I love you, Sirius.  And it'll take a lot more than ten years apart and a few differences to change that."

"I love you, too," Sirius said quietly.  He seemed almost relieved, but Julia saw a little of that frightening distance fade from his eyes.  Yes, he had changed, she knew.  Even if she didn't care, she knew—and Julia suddenly suspected those deep differences would matter very much to someone else…someone who still didn't want to recognize Sirius for what he had become.

Somehow, that thought made the uncertain future appear a little less dark.

---------------


	10. Chapter 10: That Which We Are

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Ten: That Which We Are

The weeks were twisting by, slow on one hand and burning like fire on the other.  The summer was hot, and the daylight hours long—had it been any other year, they might have been at peace.  1992 was the first summer that the Marauders had shared in over a decade…but the potential happiness faded underneath the grim pressure of reality.

As August approached, the four inseparable friends remained separated.  Save for a brief dinner together, each had been busy carrying out his own duties, struggling desperately to hold the world together.  James (still a patient at St. Mungo's and subject to tests, experiments, and continuing efforts to bring his deadened legs back to life) was running the government from bed and the wheelchair Sirius had hurriedly constructed.  Meanwhile, Remus fortified Hogwarts and continued to recruit members for the Order of the Phoenix, struggling to counter Voldemort's every move and protect his people at the same time.  Peter, acting on James' behalf, traveled across Wizarding Europe, scraping up support for the war effort little by little.  On the other hand, though—and surprising to many—Sirius kept a low profile, journeying to and from Avalon and sharpening his own skills.  He also kept a close watch on Harry, whom Snape had warned them was Voldemort's next target.

Yet by July 29th, nothing had happened.  Harry and Lily stayed at Grimmauld Place, kept safe by the ancient house's Unplottable location and added security.  Right after learning of Voldemort's renewed fixation, Sirius had "borrowed" Frank Longbottom from Avalon, and had put the senior Auror's expertise to work.  Together with Fred Randolph and Adam Macmillan, they had booby trapped every inch of the Black Family home, tightening security to the point where a Muggle tank would have melted into scrap metal before successfully negotiating the front walk.  

Still, fourteen days had passed, and nothing had happened.

Voldemort's followers had probed Hogwarts, twice, however, but had retreated before Remus' newest bag of tricks could be opened.  The remnants of the Inner Circle couldn't help but wonder if this was only intended as a distraction, which left Lily chewing her nails over her son's safety.  Remus, however, had bigger problems on his hands, because before Snape could warn the Order's fledgling head, Scott Mulciber and Lloyd Flint had assassinated three of the Order's newest members, and Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured a fourth to death.  This made it evident there was a spy in their ranks, and perhaps more than one, but even Remus' harshest scrutiny could not uncover the identity of the traitor.

July 29th, and all was still.  Relatively speaking.  Life continued, even as the Wizarding World quaked in fear.  Recent deaths only added to the terror that had been sparked by the Ministry's destruction, and a few senior members of the Department of Mysteries had disappeared without a trace three days before.  After twenty-two years of war, everyone knew what _that _meant—families were scheduling funerals, and tears had been shed.  Life went on because it had to.

Making matters worse, though, Fudge and Umbridge continued to play the political game, asserting that James was injured, incapable, and unworthy.  Though few believed the career politicians' "concerns," tensions were running tight, and Voldemort's random attacks continued with frightening impunity.  People screamed for Aurors to protect them, but the division's numbers were still too small, and Sirius was not eager to sacrifice the few he had.  Training time on Avalon was shortened still further, though, and the pressure ratcheted up even higher. 

---------------

Bill covered a yawn with the back of his hand.

Dawn had yet to break over Avalon, yet Frank Longbottom and his three assistant instructors had already been up for almost an hour.  After wolfing down a quick breakfast, they had adjourned deep in the Red Room.  The Red Room had long ago been carved out underneath the main villa's foundations years before, and it was the deepest part of the Aurors' twelve hundred year old training facility.  Traditionally, the Red Room was also the meeting place for those who ran the most strenuous training program known to Wizard kind.

No one knew _why _it was called the Red Room, of course; aside from the background of a painting of Viviane Merlyn, the founder of Avalon.  Apart from the painting (which was the only one on any of the room's five walls), the "Red Room" was a gray and imposing cavern, furnished in deep blues, purples, and blacks.  The mahogany shelves were lined with rows upon rows of training manuals, journals, and ancient documents; Bill had never gotten the chance to examine them all, all he knew that the oldest dated back to the Aurors' founding in 36 C.E.  The history buff in him wished that he had the leisure time to examine them all, but unfortunately, there were more important matters to attend to.

"All right." Frank leaned back in his chair, letting its front legs dangle off the rock floor.  "The last two weeks have been _fun"—his three understudies laughed tiredly—"but now it's time to start thinking.  Thinking hard."  His joking expression became serious._

"As you all are aware, Auror training has been steadily cut back over the years.  What started as a three year program was compressed into two, and then one, and the war went on and on.  When we came to Avalon, we knew that we had just over three months to complete the same training.  We worked out plans and schedules for ten weeks here on Avalon.  But things just got worse."

"How long do we have, boss?" Hestia asked as he paused, straight to the point as always.

Frank frowned.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "I talked to Sirius this morning, and he didn't give me a specific time that we _had to be ready by.  He just said that we had to finish as quickly as humanely possible."_

"We already are," Kingsley pointed out in his rumbling voice.  "Ten weeks was already asking for the impossible.  Anything faster will only get people killed."

"Our people," Bill said quietly, speaking around the lump that had formed in his throat.  As an instructor on Avalon, he wasn't hemmed in by the same communications restrictions as the candidates, and he'd spoken to his father more than once.  Things were getting _bad.  "What about everyone else?"_

"Bill's got a point," Frank replied with a nod.  "Here, it's easy to forget that there's an outside world and other things to consider.  But we can't afford to forget that there are people relying upon us.  People who might die_ if we delay."_

"But when does hurrying become recklessness and that become dangerous?" Hestia asked.  "When does pushing the envelope become sheer stupidity?"

"When the risks outweigh the potential gain." Heads turned to look as Kingsley spoke coolly, and Hestia's eyes flashed.  

"Risks?" she demanded.  "For every day of training those kids miss, there's one more chance that they die.  _We owe them better than that.  Our job is to train them, to give them every chance to succeed—not send them to their deaths!"_

But Kingsley's dark eyes were hard.  "We all know why we're here," he responded calmly.  "Even the candidates do.  They all understand that they may have to die—but they're willing to risk that to end this war.  They're willing to pay the price, just like we are."

"There's a difference."  Bill had seen that stubborn look on Hestia's face before, and knew it wasn't good.  Kingsley, however, wasn't exactly the type to be intimidated.

"Is there?"

"We're trained to do so.  In eight weeks—_or maybe less—these kids are going to be little better off than N.E.W.T. qualified wizards.  And most of them _are _kids.  They don't have the emotional maturity to deal with what we do, and we're going to expect them to do it without training?"_

"You underestimate them," Kingsley said quietly.

"Forgive me if I'm a realist," she retorted dryly.  "I—"

"That's enough," Frank cut her off gently.  "We don't have to _like this, folks.  We just have to find a way to get it done." He sat up in his chair, returning all four legs to the ground with a sharp crack.  "In eight weeks, twenty candidates will become Aurors, no matter what we think of that.  Our job is to train them.  Not to complain."_

Longbottom's gray gaze studied his trio of instructors.  "And eight weeks is too long.  Remember that while we are secure here, Sirius and the others are spread thin and _dying.  There are nineteen active Aurors right now, and four of us are here.  We _need _those kids." Pain flickered in his eyes, but his voice remained strong.  "And even if half of them die, we'll be better off than we are now."_

---------------

The sun was shining, and any other day would have made it beautiful.  

Peter snorted.  Any other year, maybe.  But not this one. 1992 wasn't turning out to be like anyone had expected.  He sighed.

"It's getting dark," James said abruptly.

"Huh?" Peter twisted to stare at his friend.  It was early afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky.  All in all, it was a perfect summer day, with the heat of July finally beginning to blend into August.  The two friends were alone in St. Mungo's inner courtyard, with Peter seated on an uncomfortable wicker chair—_why can no chair at a hospital ever be comfortable?—and James floating beside him in the enchanted Muggle wheelchair that had already proven so useful.  _

Peter had returned from France only that morning, and was due to Apparate back after lunch.  By all rights, he shouldn't have left at all, but James was the head of his government, and the French were being sticky.  _As usual_.  With as close as they were to the British Wizarding world, both geographically and historically, one would think that the French would recognize the threat that Voldemort posed and would move to stop him.  But _no, of __course not.  Voldemort _wasn't their problem.__

So he'd come back for advice and for guidance.  After all, the Ministry of Magic was James' to run, and Peter didn't want to make any promises that his friend could not later afford to keep.  Yet the subject of French idiots had simply gone by the wayside as they waited for lunch, and James was staring blankly at the perfectly blue sky.  There weren't even any clouds in sight.

"It's getting dark," his friend replied.  "Darker than I would have thought possible."

Peter stared, and James' head slowly came around to face him.  Worry made the other man's hazel eyes dark, made him look decades older than he really was.  _Do we all look like that? _Peter wondered suddenly.  _Have so many years of war turned us all into old men?_  His chest felt tight.  _Where did the innocence of childhood go?_

"The war has three sides, now," James explained sadly.  "Those with us…those against us…and those who fear too much to fight."

Peter blinked, feeling the tightness in his chest grow.  But James continued before he could speak.

"The French are just another example, Wormtail," the wheelchair-bound wizard said.  "They're cornered, and they're afraid, and they hope that if Voldemort doesn't notice them, everything will be all right.  We see the same thing here—members of the Order firecall Remus and say that they want out.  Surviving members of the government flee overseas with their families." He sighed.

"I can't blame them for wanting to be safe," James said quietly.  "But I can blame them for seeking that security at the expense of others."

Peter swallowed. "But can we stop them?"

"I don't know," James admitted.  "We can encourage, and we can inspire.  We can remind them what everyone stands to lose if we fail.  But can we stop them from running?" He shook his head slowly.  "No, probably not.

"Tell the French that we'll fight, Peter.  We'll fight until the end, not because we want to, but because we have to.  And we'll do it with or without them."

---------------

Sirius and Harry were playing chess when the smell first became noticeable.  Lily, who was sitting closer to the library's door, was the first to recognize it, and she came to her feet immediately when the banging began.  They had spent so long expecting something to go wrong, living on pins and needles and simply _waiting_…

"What the—" he began, but cut himself off before saying something somewhat unclean in front of Lily's eleven year old son—and in front of Harry's thirty-two year old mother.

"That's smoke," Harry said redundantly, looking up.

Lily was moving out of the library even before Sirius could cast a diagnostic spell on the house.  He'd spent days working up the wards on Grimmauld Place, and even though he'd had help—lots of it—every single ward was keyed to him.  Others could sense them, and a few could even control them under desperate circumstances, but Sirius was the key.  He was the only person who could remove any of them, and the only person who knew them all.  It only took seconds for him to be sure that the fire wasn't inside the house, but by then, Lily was shouting.

"Get your wand, Harry!" Sirius commanded, bolting out of his armchair and through the library door.  Hard ebony wood felt cool beneath his fingertips; he didn't remember reaching for his own wand, but an Auror's instincts had brought it to hand.

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

"Fire Brigade! Open up!" A male voice shouted from outside as the banging on the door continued.  Instinct prickled.

Sirius sprinted past the front door, peering out of a window over Lily's shoulder.  Unlike his best friend's wife, however, he was careful to lurk behind an old curtain, hoping that it would obscure his outline.  Doing so was ninety percent training, and only ten percent calculation, but his instincts were saying that there was something wrong, and if there was anything that Alastor Moody had drilled into his pupil, it was that instincts were _important._  Intuition knew what the mind did not, and Sirius wasn't supposed to be at Grimmauld Place.  Had things gone a little bit differently, he would have been with James at St. Mungo's, working out the details of yet another press release—a knot formed in his gut, and he didn't know why.

A large fire truck sat right in the street, with five firefighters scattered within his field of vision.  All were suited and masked in the way that Muggle firefighters always were, with giant tanks strapped to their backs and axes—_axes?_—in their hands.  Two of the firefighters were by the truck, fooling with a giant hose, and another pair was jogging up to join the one who had been banging on the door.  To Sirius' left, Number Thirteen, Grimmauld Place, was smoking dangerously.

But there were no firefighters at Number Thirteen.  Two were at the truck, and three were on Sirius' doorstep.

_BANG! BANG!_

"Open up or we shall break the door down!" the same voice shouted. Then, as if an afterthought: "We need to break through your wall to get into Number Thirteen!"

Sirius knew a bit of Muggle history, which wasn't much but had seemed to be a great deal back in his Hogwarts days, especially when looked at in comparison to the rest of his xenophobic family.  However, he did know that Muggle townhouses were always in danger of burning down if a neighboring structure caught fire.  Because they shared side walls, a fire in one could quickly spread to another—unless, of course, the normal seeming townhouse was magically warded against fire.

"For the last time, open the door or—"

"Those aren't Muggles," Lily said abruptly.

"What?" Sirius jumped back from the window, casting a quick spell to check on the wards.  They were fine, but instinct prickled again.

"They've dropped their axes," she explained calmly, heading towards the front door.  "Muggles can't break down the door without axes."

"There's smoke in here," Harry said quietly, making Lily and Sirius jump.  They hadn't noticed his approach, hadn't had time.  Things were moving too quickly.

And there was.  Sirius dearly hoped that it was just the ventilation system, which was undoubtedly older than Phineas Nigellus and hadn't been serviced since before Sirius was born, if not longer.  But there wasn't time to check.

There was only time to hope.

Still, he had to try, and Sirius cast a fast diagnostic spell.  If the Death Eaters—and they _had_ to be Death Eaters because no one else would dare try—had found a way through the wards to light Grimmauld Place on fire, they were doomed.  But the Fire Extinguishing Spells and Flame Retardant Charms that he and the Aurors had so carefully worked on the townhouse were still in place.  Consequently, there was no way for _any type of fire to get inside Grimmauld Place…Except the Floo.  _Oh, damn.  _Sirius felt cold.  _The Floo—the fireplace!__

"Lily!" he spun to face her even as she reached the front door.  "The—"

All hell broke loose.

_Crack_.

It started with the wards—as one, at least three wizards cast a spell that didn't immediately send off any danger signals, except for the fact that it was a spell, and had been cast in the vicinity of Grimmauld Place.  The noise, however, made Lily jump back, and wood splinters sprayed all over the front hall, striking Sirius and Harry.  That, however, proved to be the least of their worries.

Silver metal was peeking through a hole in the door.  A _hole.  Lily had been wrong about the axes.  Apparently, at least one of the "firefighters" hadn't dropped his; instead, the trio had propelled it by magic into the hardwood door.  Even as Sirius stared, though, the axe blade disappeared, offering him a very narrow view of the world outside.  Almost immediately, the slit was filled by the round end of a wooden stick.  _Stick.  Right._  His mind was working extraordinarily slow.  _

Time sped up, and instinct reactivated his brain.

"Get back!"

Unceremoniously, he grabbed Lily and threw her backwards; Harry yelped as his mother's body crashed into his own.  But Sirius had acted none too soon—

_"Reducto!"_

 This time, he recognized the voice, and the reinforced door rocked and Sirius dove aside, barely missed by the fringes of the spell.  The hole was wider, now, wide enough that he could recognize a firefighter-clothed midsection that undoubtedly belonged to Lloyd Flint.  Then there was movement as Flint stepped aside, and another voice:

"You idiot! Don't use that spell!  _Cadovallum!" Rodolphus Lestrange (the only remaining Lestrange brother after Remus had killed the younger one) snarled.  The entire front wall shook and shuddered, but did not fall._

Whether due to good architecture or sound spell work, Sirius really didn't care.  Either way, they didn't have long, and he dropped into a crouch.  Five against two, but they had the advantage of being inside—for the moment.  Soon, their safety might become their death trap.

From behind him, Lily shouted, "_Stupefy!" and Flint crumbled.  _

Outside, three angry voices returned with _"Diffindo!"  _

_"Aboriscum,"_ Lily hissed from behind Sirius, shoving Harry back as the door shattered into a thousand pieces.  Sirius didn't have to look, but even if he had, he wouldn't have seen the boy.  Lily, with her customary efficiency, had simply cast a complicated charm to make her son invisible.  Training, however, guided his hands more than conscious thought.

_"Capitiscindo!"__ Sirius shouted, and watched Igor Karkaroff's head twist off like a top.  It flew through the air and struck Rodolphus Lestrange in the shoulder, making the thin Death Eater jump.  But Sirius wasted no time in watching their reactions.  He aimed another curse at Lestrange and missed, but it forced Rodolphus to jump away from the door._

"Bar the door behind me, Lily!" Sirius shouted, coming up out of his crouch and firing off a Shield Charm at the same time.  A red jet of light sizzled past his right ear, and one of the far Death Eaters crumbled to the ground.  The other, however, kept coming, and she wasn't wearing a mask any more.  "And close the Floo!"

Sirius was through the door before she could object.  

_Two against one.  Flint was down.  Karkaroff was dead.  Whoever Lily had struck the second time was unconscious as well, but that still left Sirius to deal with two of Voldemort's most feared Death Eaters on his own.  __Let's even the odds a little bit, then.  Twisting right, he dodged his cousin-in-law's Imperius Curse and took aim._

_"Incendio!"  Sirius shouted, and watched Rodolphus howl as flames engulfed him.  The poor fool had taken off his Muggle jacket, undoubtedly because it was _heavy. _ What Rodolphus didn't realize, though, was that the jacket was also fire resistant, and would have kept Sirius from lighting him on fire.  For a split second, the Auror grinned coldly.  __Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with fire?_

Lestrange kept screaming, but Sirius didn't have the time to pay any more attention to him.  Instead, he bounced off of the wall he'd twisted into, and sprinted forward, casting a defensive shield as he went.  Lights flashed in the afternoon sun even as he did so; a few seconds slower and he would have been cooked.  Fifty feet away, Bellatrix Lestrange had somehow shed the firefighter's gear that she'd been wearing, and was rushing at him as well.  Rodolphus would have to deal with himself.

_"Imperio!"_

_"Everbero!"_

The two spells impacted in midair and sent a shower of flames spraying all over the square.  Sirius thought he saw a patch of grass catch on fire to his right, but there wasn't time to look—he dove in that direction as green light flashed past, casting the first spell that came to mind.  Oddly enough, it was another Strike Spell, and this time he got through.

Bellatrix flew through the air, and even though she landed on her feet almost immediately, the spell gave Sirius time to roll behind the abandoned fire truck.  Quickly, he peered around the back left tire, and saw Bellatrix standing in the open, staring at him.

"Afraid to stand up to me, cousin?" she shouted, laughing.

"I'm not the one who brought four friends along to play!" Sirius yelled back, thinking quickly.  Lily would call for help, he knew, but how long would it take to get there?   And Rodolphus was on his feet now, having extinguished the fire.  He looked rather charbroiled and very upset, but he was storming towards the front door like a man on a mission.  

Suddenly, red light flashed from one of the windows, barely missing him, and Sirius saw his chance.  The range was rather long, but—_"Reducto!"_

There wasn't time to be nice or honorable; in battle, both of those sensitive topics went right out the window.  Even if Sirius' spell _had _managed to blast Rodolphus Lestrange into a billion tiny pieces, he wouldn't have felt bad, but from the angle he was at, all he was really hoping to do was distract the other wizard.

And it worked.  Spinning around to cast a spell at Sirius—who was hidden from Bellatrix by the fire truck but was completely open to Rodolphus—the Death Eater turned his back on Grimmauld Place.  On Lily.

He hadn't even brought his wand up before he landed face first on the front lawn of Number Thirteen, which continued to smolder.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Trixie!" Sirius taunted her. 

Bellatrix screeched in rage, and he barely had time to leap aside before the fire truck became a raging fireball.  Rolling, Sirius came up into the same crouch that had driven dozens of opponents insane, and aimed an Incinerator Curse in her direction for good measure.  He missed, of course, because Bella had always been fast, but fire seemed to be the order of the day, and he was more than willing to play by her rules.  For now.

_"Expelliarmus!"___

_"Reducto!"_

_"Evanescorpus!"_

_"Imperio!"_

This time, the mess of spells crossed in the air, impacting shields and one another and creating something like a Muggle light show on a much grander scale.  Both dodged and cast counters without even thinking about them, and Sirius was only distantly aware of the burning fire truck to his right and the smoking townhouse to his left.  Everything had narrowed down to one opponent, and this moment.  Distraction would be suicide.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _she screeched, and Sirius barely dodged in time.  He dove behind a nearby car, pointing his wand at the closest street lamp.

_"Resiacio!"  The tall metal post ripped itself out of the ground and shot towards Bellatrix.  Lightning fast, she jumped aside, but Sirius had already aimed a second spell.  There was a crash somewhere off to the side, but he couldn't afford to guess where it came from.  __"Conjunctivits!"_

It missed, but her return curse did not, and Sirius flew backwards as a giant weight slammed into his chest.  Bellatrix's Strike Spell had been hastily cast, otherwise he'd probably be unconscious—frantically, he rolled to the right, and watched green light flash over his nose.  Still on his side, Sirius thrust his wand forward and they cast at the same time.

_"Crucio!"___

_"Vindireperio!"_

He'd hoped that Bellatrix would cast another Killing Curse, but the Cruciatus Curse was almost as good.  She screamed as his counter curse sent her spell back in her face, and as his cousin howled in pain, Sirius leapt to his feet.  Unfortunately, even the Mirror Curse only bought him seconds, and before he could hit her with another spell, Bellatrix dove behind an upturned car.  _How did that get there?  No matter.  One of their deflected spells must have struck it._

"Afraid to play dirty, Sirius?" she taunted him.  "Afraid of doing something _Unforgivable_?"

He dodged as the lamp post came sailing back in his direction, and heard it crunch into the pavement behind him.  Sirius dropped back into his crouch before replying, "And what are _you _hiding from, cousin?" he laughed.  "Is dueling more complicated than torturing the helpless?"

His heart pounded like drums in his ears while he waited for her reply.  Balancing on one knee in the street, with his wand held at the ready, all Sirius could do was wait for her to act.  Bellatrix was hidden behind the car, and though he could see her distorted shadow trailing out to the vehicle's right, there was no way to know exactly where she was.  Of course, Sirius was certain that Bella could see him perfectly well, but to _hit _him, she would have to expose herself.  And that was enough to make the odds even.

Besides, all he had to do was wait, and she knew it.  Lily would have called Remus, undoubtedly, and members of the Order would be there soon.  In fact, Sirius was half surprised that they hadn't arrived already, but then again, tense duels always seemed to take longer than they felt to those who were involved—_There__!_

Bellatrix's head poked up.  _"Cruico!"_ she shouted.

_"Extundo!"_

Both curses struck.  Sirius' hit Bellatrix like the hammer it was supposed to be, even as pain exploded in his body and he screamed, sailing backwards.  But pain was something he had dealt with before, and the Unforgivables required concentration that she didn't have at the moment.  Rolling, Sirius came back into his crouch and fired off another spell at his now exposed cousin.  

_"Imperio!"_

Now, he would play dirty.  She dodged, of course, and Sirius heard a shout from his left—the Death Eater that Lily had stunned at the very beginning had awoken, and Sirius barely had time to put up a shield before a Stunner came sizzling towards him.  Near the front door, Flint was clambering to his feet, while Avery—it had to be Avery, not one else sounded like that—dodged Sirius' hurried Reductor Curse.  _I am so doomed_.

Red light from the house made Flint dodge and almost fall, but the assassin crawled towards the unconscious Rodolphus Lestrange with purpose.  Any moment now, Sirius knew that Lily would come sailing out of Grimmauld Place, and things would start to play right into the Death Eater's hands—dirty was the word of the day.  He looked for Bellatrix, but she had dived behind the car again.  Instead, he twisted and aimed for Avery.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Green light flashed, and Avery went down.  Sirius continued his turn, and set his sights on Bellatrix's annoying husband, who Flint had just reached and was in the process of waking up.

_"Stupefy!" _ Bellatrix shouted.

Maybe she did like Rodolphus more than most people thought; Sirius dodged quickly, but the fringes of the spell hit him anyway, and suddenly everything was _slow_.  He rolled, but every movement seemed to take a lifetime, and he knew that he didn't have the seconds to spare.  Any moment, and things would get _really _bad—

_"Everbero!" _a familiar voice cried, and Bellatrix howled in fury.

Sirius' head turned with excruciating slowness to face the newcomers as spells exploded all around him.  Alice Longbottom, Francine Hoyt, and Derek Dawlish were suddenly in the street, and a very familiar set of hands was dragging him back.  Remus.

_"Ennervate_,_" his friend said quietly, and though Sirius hadn't been unconscious, the reviving spell had the desired effect.  Fortunately, it worked fast, restoring Sirius' reflexes fast enough for him to drag Remus down as green light flashed over the headmaster's head.  Shoving his friend aside, Sirius rolled and brought his wand up._

_"Stupefy!"_ he shouted, aiming for Bellatrix once again.  She'd tried to kill Remus, though she might very well have been aiming for Sirius—

The red light hit her square in the chest, and Bellatrix crumbled.  A shout came from somewhere to the right, and Sirius saw Dawlish stagger out of the corner of his eye—but then Rodolphus was at his wife's side, and before anyone could blink, the Death Eaters Apparated away, leaving the decapitated Karkaroff and dead Avery behind.

---------------


	11. Chapter 11: Illusion of Fate

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Eleven: Illusion of Fate

Three hours later, Sirius collapsed into a kitchen chair with a sigh.  One by one, Remus, Lily, and the quartet of Aurors had dismantled every ward on Grimmauld Place, checking and rechecking, and trying to figure out what had gone wrong.  Somehow, there had been enough kinks in the original design to let the Death Eaters approach the house unnoticed.  Of course, the fact that those five had been able to see Grimmauld Place wasn't surprising—they were from some of the oldest families in the Wizarding World, and they all had been there before—but the fact that the wards _hadn't _tipped Sirius off to their presence was frightening.  So, three exhausting hours later, the wards had been reworked and recharged…but the original problem had never been found.

Remus wasn't a paranoid or suspicious man by nature, but that was enough to put his teeth on edge.  Looking at Sirius' drawn face didn't help matters, either; he knew that his friend was exhausted, not to mention worried.

They exchanged a glance, and didn't need words to communicate.  It was July 29th, two days before Harry turned twelve.  Less than thirty four hours, actually, which meant Voldemort's self-imposed deadline was coming up fast.  If he was going to kill Harry, he didn't have much time.

_And if Peter hadn't come back from France, Sirius would have been at St. Mungo's with James, and Lily and Harry would both be dead._  Remus shivered, seeing the same expression on his friend's face.  They had been lucky, and they both knew it.  Extraordinarily lucky.

"So what now?" Alice Longbottom asked.  Her pretty round face wore the serious and grim expression that Remus had grown accustomed to seeing these days, and looking at her made him wonder where their youth had gone.  On one hand, it seemed like only yesterday that she was the laughing and happy Alice Hoppner, Ravenclaw prefect in Remus' first year and Head Girl in his third…yet on the other, those carefree days seemed to be centuries in the past.  Remus swallowed back bittersweet nostalgia as Sirius replied.

"I think, at least for the next few days, that we'll have to keep Aurors here.  I hate to tie up people like that, but I can't see any other options."  He frowned, and let out a breath.  "At least until we figure what went wrong with the wards."

"I'll stay," Dawlish said immediately.  "It's not like I've got a wife and kids to go home to, anyway." He grinned as Alice arched an eyebrow.  "Or a crabby mother-in-law and kid."

She snickered.  "I happen to _like _my mother-in-law, thank you."

"You must be the only one," Francine Hoyt piped up.  "I can't stand mine.  Then again, maybe that's because she's a Muggle, and has a hard time understanding why I'm up at all hours doing all kinds of odd things."

They all chuckled, but the amusement was brief.  The stress of the moment was weighing too heavily upon them for it to last any longer.  "Are you sure, Derek?" Sirius asked.  "I don't want to turn your life upside down, and—"

"The war's done that already, boss," Dawlish smiled sadly.  "Little too later to fix things, 'cept bit by bit.  Yeah, I'm sure.  I'll do my part."

"I think it's a good idea," Alice nodded decisively.  "At least until the deadline has passed."  Her dark eyes narrowed.  "Or until we can figure out where the holes are."

"I can help with that, too," Dawlish put in.

"All right, then," Sirius nodded, glancing at Remus.  "Unless you've got a better idea."

Remus bit his lip thoughtfully.  "Not really," he admitted with a sigh.  "I mean, we could bring Harry to Hogwarts for safety, but…" he trailed off, looking at the boy's face.  "What's wrong, Harry?"

James' son colored slightly as everyone turned to him. "Nothing," he replied quickly.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked gently.  Harry had always been an awful liar.

"No—I mean, yeah."  Harry turned an even deeper shade of red, then glanced down, studying the table uncomfortably.  "I just don't like the way that everyone has to work so hard to protect me," he admitted quietly.  "I mean, Sirius could have died today, and the four of you had to leave your homes and families and Hogwarts… It just doesn't seem right."

Lily reached out and placed a hand on her son's shoulder.  "It's not your fault, Harry."

"I know it's not my fault," Harry looked up angrily.  "But it's still not right that everything should come down to me.  I didn't _do _anything.  And even if I die, it's not going to make a difference.  Not for the war, anyway."

"That's where you're wrong," Remus replied quietly.  "Everyone matters.  Every life, every death—that's what we're fighting for.  We're fighting so that people don't have to life in fear, so that children don't die on Voldemort's whim.  You are important, Harry.  Both as yourself and to the war."

"But the prophecy," the boy objected.  "It's all about an accident of birth, and it might not even be me any more."

Instinctively, eyes swung to face Sirius.  Even though only Remus and Lily knew about the _second _prophecy, everyone turned to him—and again, Sirius responded.  He'd always had the gift of doing the right thing at the right moment, no matter how irresponsible and crazy he could act the rest of the time.  "No, it may not," he said quietly.  "And it might not even be valid at all.  But the important thing now is that Voldemort _thinks _it is.  So he's coming after you.

"It's important to protect you Harry, not because some half-crazed seer said that you might defeat the Dark Lord, but because you don't deserve to be targeted like this."  His blue eyes met Harry's green calmly.  "It isn't fair to you, and if I could change the past, I would.  But I can't force Voldemort to play fair.  All I can do is fight to stop him.  And every time we save you, we defy him again, and we win one more victory, proving that this isn't over."

Harry nodded, and Remus saw some of the bitter embarrassment fade from his eyes.  He sighed.  "I hate being a target."

"So do I," Sirius grinned, and Harry returned the smile—but only Remus read the shadows behind Sirius' eyes and knew the truth.  In two days time, Voldemort's ultimatum would expire, and when that moment came, the Dark Lord would have to lash out.  The most logical target for his fury was Harry, of course—_Unless__ we distract him_, Remus knew with cold certainty.  _Unless we provide a target that he can't afford to ignore_.

His eyes met Sirius' across the table.

--------------

Deadline minus one day.  Lily had scheduled a meeting with the Unicorn Group for this day, but she'd owled instructions to Molly Weasley to handle matters without her.  Everyone understood; the attack on Harry had been plastered all over the front pages of the _Daily Prophet_.  The details hadn't been released, of course—there wasn't a Ministry of Magic to release anything, after all—but the _Prophet _had found out the barebones of the attack anyway.  Several reporters had shown up while Sirius and the other Aurors cleaned away the burned out shell of the fire truck and disposed of the dead bodies (Lily and Remus had been pressed into impromptu-Obliviator duties, and had put out the fire at Number Thirteen before adjusting the memories of Sirius' neighbors).  Though Alice had chased the inquisitive reporters away, it had been hard to hide the evidence of battle and destruction.

_Take down the government, and the reporters remain_, Lily thought bitterly.  _The most useless elements of society are always the last to go_.

She sighed, and glanced back down at _Merlin's Magic: A Guide to the Darker Enchantments of Old_.  Even though she couldn't meet with the Unicorn Group, research continued, and Lily had been reading all morning.  The stack of books next to her worn armchair was growing higher and higher with each passing hour; Grimmauld Place was a fantastic resource for reading material, especially in the Dark Arts, a field that she had never been fascinated with, despite having married an Auror.  Lily had finished _Outlawed Magic_ an hour before, and prior to that had skimmed her way through _Creatures of the Dark_ and _The Evolution and Advancement of Modern Charms_.  The problem was that no book had the answers she was looking for, and Lily knew it.  She didn't even know if there _was _an answer, but her job was to find out.

Within the Order of the Phoenix, the Unicorn Group had established a reputation for doing the impossible. Yet only Lily really understood how lucky they had been; how, out of the hundreds of projects they had started, only a few had been completed.  Now, without a stable Ministry or Dumbledore's voice of experience to lean on, things were getting rough.

Lily blinked back tears.  _I will not think about that_.  Control was hard to come by, sometimes.  Her mentor had been dead for only a little over a month, and it still hurt like hell.  Entering the Wizarding world had estranged Lily from her remaining family—her parents were dead and Merlin only knew what had happened to Petunia, though Lily knew she'd married and had at least one child.  But over the years, she'd assembled a magical "family" to replace what she'd lost.  Remus, Peter, and Sirius had of course been a part of that—and Dumbledore.  First with the Unicorn Group, and then at the Ministry, Dumbledore had become her mentor.  Like Minerva McGonagall, he'd become someone to look up to and lean on when things got too hard.  And now he was dead, like Minerva.

She hoped that they could see one another now, wherever they were.

Sighing, Lily returned her attention to _Merlin's Magic_.  Dementors weren't even mentioned in the book (they hadn't existed back in Merlin's day, though, so that wasn't exactly a surprise), but there were some interesting theories on dark creatures.  And as irrelevant as those theories might seem, they could possibly hold the key—

"Mum?"

Lily looked up.  "Yes, Harry?"

"I don't mean to bother you, but…" He trailed off, standing in the doorway.  Harry looked so uncertain, and that wasn't an expression that Lily was used to seeing on her son's face.  It was the day before his birthday, and in any other year, in any other time, he should have been laughing and wondering and eager—but this year was different, and there was no use pretending that it wasn't.  

"You're not a bother," she smiled, and put the book down.  "Come in.  What's wrong?"

Harry drifted over to another chair and plopped into it, his face downcast.  "Well, uh, I was just wondering if maybe we can go to St. Mungo's tomorrow.  To visit Dad."

A normal twelve year old would want presents for their birthday.  Harry just wanted to visit his father, and the thought broke Lily's heart.  And so did her response.  "I'm afraid we can't, Harry."

"I know." His shoulders slumped.  "Safety and all that.  I just had to ask."

"I'm sorry, honey."

"It's not your fault, Mum." Harry tried to smile, and failed miserably. "It's not like we asked for this."

"True.  But I'm still sorry."  _He's too old for his age, _Lily thought sadly.  _Far too old.__  And as little as a year ago, that wasn't true.  _She resisted the urge to sigh.  _Is it wrong for me to want my little boy back?_

"I know." Harry sighed, then brightened a little bit.  "I talked to Dad this morning, though.  He said Sirius and Remus are planning something _huge _for my birthday.  Something that I'll 'never' expect."  Suddenly, he was an eleven year old boy again.  "D'you know what?"

Lily chuckled.  "Of course I do."

"_Mum_."

"What?" she grinned, glad to see him whine again.

"That's not fair!" Harry objected.

"Of course it isn't," Lily agreed good-naturedly.  "But that's the perks of being one of the grown-ups, dear."

Harry groaned and mumbled, "Stupid parents."

"What was that, Harry?" Lily arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he grumbled, making his mother laugh.

"That's what I thought." She grinned.  "Now, why don't you be a good little boy and pretend that your father never opened his big fat mouth about your birthday surprise?" 

"_Mum!_  I'm not a little boy!"

"Of course you aren't, dear." Lily's grin turned wicked.  "Now, how about a nice lollipop?"

--------------

Usually, he came to Avalon after dark.  At any given time, there were at least four active Aurors on the island—the trainees were responsible for the security watches at night, but there were ways in that the candidates had yet to learn, and the Division's head knew them all.  Usually, Black only stopped by for an hour or two, conversing quietly with Frank Longbottom and then going on his way, but every now and then he stayed longer.  Bill had spoken to him a handful of times, but Sirius Black was far too busy to stay on the island for long, and the Aurors knew it.  The news media had a hard time following the strikes that the remaining Aurors conducted on Death Eater strongholds, but those on Avalon had no such difficulties.  They received reports for each one of them, and Bill knew what the media did not.

Like James Potter, Sirius Black was not the type of man who could lead from behind.  In the month since the Aurors had made the move to Avalon, they had participated in seven actions (four successful, two not, and one that could hardly be counted either way) and Black had led each one of them.  Like James, he wasn't the type who could ask someone to do something that he would not do first, but _unlike_ his predecessor, Black seemed willing and eager to spit in the Dark Lord's eye.  Private consensus between the instructors who were permanently posted on Avalon and their oft-visiting colleagues had decided that Black was deliberately courting Voldemort's wrath.  Why he would want to, no one understood, but the reasons why he did so were obvious.

Somebody had to, after all.  And Dumbledore was dead.

In that fact laid the reason Black had only visited Avalon after dark.  He was a target—second only to young Harry Potter on the Dark Lord's list of people to kill—and putting himself in the open was just foolish.  Pulling Voldemort's beard was one thing.  Courting disaster was another.

Bill watched as Black climbed the stairs to the raised platform where the instructors had gathered to watch the twenty candidates of class 4904 negotiate the Labyrinth, Avalon's age old maze of tunnels, passageways, latent spells and unexpected surprises.  Few made it through on the first try, especially with Kingsley's pet Crup added to the mess.  Bill had no idea where Kingsley had managed to acquire the small creature, which strongly resembled a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail.  Muggles and wizards both commonly mistook Crups for the simple canines that they resembled, but anyone who did so in the midst of the Labyrinth would find out that Daisy was very different from her distant Jack Russell cousins.  Daisy hunted by sight, and once she had seen someone, she never forgot.

Predictably, Kingsley was rather mum about where he'd acquired Daisy and how she'd ended up with the rather odd name.  But Frank had only grinned when Kingsley had suggested adding her to the Labyrinth, and Daisy had ruined the attempts of five candidates in quick succession.  Muggle dogs could be stunned.  Daisy had lived with an Auror long enough to know that dodging and faking worked much better.

The sixth candidate tripped coming into the maze, and Bill winced sympathetically.  Nymphadora Tonks was downright brilliant in defense and concealment, but she was a complete and utter klutz.  The girl had a hard time walking into one of the classrooms without tripping over her own two feet, which was a shame because she was near the top of her class without taking that into account.  

A hand landed on his shoulder.  "How are you doing, Bill?"

There were legions of questions hidden in the shadowed blue eyes.  "I'm good," Bill replied levelly, knowing that the older man knew exactly what he meant.  _I've also learned the value of silencing charms.  Some nightmares just don't go away_.

"Glad to hear it." Black nodded easily.  Then his gaze flickered to the maze; the instructors' platform was the only vantage point that allowed one to see the entire Labyrinth, though the underground parts were only visible through the use of Translucent Spells.  "So, what do you think of this class?"

Bill glanced over at Hestia and Frank; they were the graders of this evolution, and were watching Tonks with undivided attention.  Kingsley was down at the opening of the maze, ready to assist if a candidate got in trouble—which they almost always did—and watching the nervous candidates who had yet to attempt the maze.  Today was the first time class 4904 had attempted the Labyrinth, though it certainly wouldn't be the last.  Bill was just an observer this time, having the dubious honor of having drawn the short straw at breakfast that morning. 

"They're learning fast," he answered.  "Faster than we did, and faster than I would have expected."  He shrugged.  "But I guess they have to, don't they?"

"Unfortunately," Black agreed quietly.  "Frank's reports say that you've moved into Ambush and Capture."

"Yeah.  We're having to skim over some parts, but…" Bill shrugged again.  "Dueling seems kind of unimportant when we think about what they'll be facing."

"I agree."

They watched in silence for several moments as young Tonks made her way through the First Wall, then followed her as she encountered Daisy for the second time.  Unlike some of the others, she didn't make the stupid mistake of trying to stun the Crup a second time—instead, she dodged back behind the wall and changed direction.  Daisy followed, of course, watching out for Tonks' brown hair and brown eyes—

"What the—" Bill cut himself off and blinked.  "Did you see that?"

"Yes." Black frowned, and they both stared at the purple-haired, green-eyed woman who stepped back through the First Wall to look at Daisy.   The Crup stared at her in confusion, then abruptly decided that this wasn't the person she was hunting, and ran back through the wall in the direction that Tonks had gone.

Grinning, the purple haired witch went on her way, and promptly tripped over a tree stump.

"I don't believe it," Bill said quietly as the pieces clicked into place.  Tonks hadn't cast a spell on herself—besides Appearance-Changing Charms didn't work on Crups.  They always saw right through them, which meant… "She's a Metamorphmagus."

Black was silent for a moment, then asked, "What did you say her name was again?"

"I didn't." Bill glanced at him.  "But her name is Nymphadora Tonks."

"Tonks?" the other repeated with surprise.

"Yeah," Bill replied.  "Do you know her?"

"No.  Not her." Black snorted.  "I do, however, know who she is." He grinned nastily. "And I know a lot of people who aren't going to be happy with the fact that she's here."

Just then, the moving wall clobbered Tonks and knocked her out of the Labyrinth.

---------------

Grumbling, Tonks leaned over to brush the dirt off of her pants.  At least she'd been lucky enough to land three feet to the right of the gigantic mud puddle, but being thrown out of the maze by a moving wall wasn't exactly good for her ego.  She'd felt so proud after avoiding the Crup—_poor Horace.  I bet he really did think that was a dog!—_that she'd forgotten all about some of the nastier parts of the Labyrinth.  And the moment her attention had wandered, the maze had grabbed the upper hand.

Tonks sighed.  At least she'd made it further than anyone else had so far, which was better than she did most of the time.  Usually, she felt like she was stuck in mediocrity, better than some of the class at some things, but worse than others at almost everything.  It wasn't a feeling that Tonks relished, either.  She was smart, and she knew it—but she'd never had to work hard at something before now.  Schoolwork had always been easy because she loved to learn.  Auror training, however, was turning out to be a different matter.

And the reverse-blood prejudice wasn't helping matters, either.  For all of her life, Tonks had been looked down upon by the "better" Wizarding families because her father was Muggleborn.  They said that she'd never be good enough because she wasn't pureblood, and wasn't worthy of being a Black.  Now, though, things were different.  For the first time in her life, Tonks was prejudged because of that Black blood, which automatically made her less than trustworthy.  Her classmates rarely said it in so many words, but _everyone _knew that the Blacks were bad.  And she was classified as one of them simply because of her blood.

Tonks sighed and checked her wand over for damage.  One of the first lessons any candidate learned was to check their wand every chance they got—if Longbottom's confiscation of their wands on day one hadn't driven that home, Tonks didn't know what would.  Fortunately, her wand was fine, if a bit dirty, which she fixed quickly enough using the hem of her robe.  

She glanced back over her shoulder at the high walls of the Labyrinth.  One try was all the candidates got, and she now had a little bit of free time before dinner, after which classes stared all over again.  Twenty days into Auror Training, Tonks had come to realize how precious free time could be, and she headed towards the student quarters with another shrug.  _Chalk that one up to a lesson learned._

"Nymphadora Tonks?"

Startled, she turned to face a wizard she didn't know.  Immediately, though, he looked familiar.  He had shoulder-length black hair and a goatee, both of which were meticulously trimmed and cared for.  His eyes were a crystal shade of blue and were piercing, almost, in their intensity, but somehow gave off the image of hiding something in their depths.  But it was his features that she recognized the most.  The precise angle of the cheekbones and the slightly bumped nose were classic Black.

"Yes?" she asked warily.

"Your mother is Andromeda Tonks?" he asked.

"What business is it of yours?" she demanded.  Tonks was having enough problems without adding this stranger to the mix, and all she really wanted to do was take a nap before dinner.  The aches were already starting to form from where she'd hit the ground, and that wasn't calculated to put her in a good mood.  And that didn't even take into account the fact that her experiences with her mother's bigoted and pureblood fanatics of a family hadn't ever been good.  So she stared at him, certain that she knew exactly what he was, and not liking it one bit.

It didn't help matters that his features reminded her very strongly of her Aunt Narcissa, who was a horrid and prejudiced woman if she'd ever met one.  Her father's relatives, Muggles or not, were a much better group of people.  Even if they were a bit strange, at least they weren't pureblooded maniacs.  Tonks scowled as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I was just asking," he said easily.

"And why is that?" Tonks challenged him, sick and tired of being judged before people knew who she really was.  "Wanting to check if I'm the half-blood in the perfect Black nest?  Well, for your information, I am, and I'm damn well proud of it."

"Actually, I was wondering if your mother was Andromeda Black," the wizard replied.  "Because if so, that makes us cousins."  He smiled slightly, holding out his right hand.  "I'm Sirius Black."

If Tonks could have died from embarrassment at that moment, she would gladly have done so.  _Open mouth, insert foot, _she thought acidly.  _Why couldn't I have just tripped over something?_  Her face was flaming hot as intellect finally caught up with her foolish reaction.  _What _other _Black would be on Avalon, idiot?_  She really wanted to die, but he was still holding out a hand as if he expected her to shake it.

"Uh…hi."  She tried to smile, but it didn't really work.  Finally, though, Tonks managed to give herself a hard enough mental kick, and took his hand.  His grip was firm, and his blue eyes studied her easily.

It was bad enough that she'd snapped at the one Black who hadn't sided with Voldemort.  Why did he also have to be the most famous Auror alive?

"It's nice to meet you," he said.

"Likewise." Tonks bit her lip, glad that her hair wasn't purple anymore.  That probably wouldn't have made a good first impression.

Black's eyes seemed to read her like a book.  "I know that you don't have long, and I won't keep you.  But I will say that I'm very glad to see you here."

She blushed suddenly, and felt like a two year old.  "Thank you."

"It's a hard road to walk, especially as a Black.  Even without the last name, people still look at you as if they expect you to be evil."

Tonks nodded mutely, almost mentioning the last time that she'd seen Aunt Bellatrix, but was unable to find the right words.  But she knew exactly what he meant; Tonks had been encountering those feelings for her entire life.  The newer families weren't so biased, but the older Wizarding families, especially those with traditional ties to the light, were the worst.  There were a few families with virtual dynasties in the Aurors, and Tonks had already encountered resistance from them.  She was fortunate enough that the likes of Hauntings and Binns were not in her section, but she wasn't blind.  Tonks noticed the dark looks they shot in her direction, and didn't miss the fact that they believed she did not _belong._  Looking at the older Auror before her, however, only reminded Tonks how much harder it must have been when he had come to Avalon.  Especially with that last name.

"Yeah," she finally said quietly.  "It gets interesting sometimes."

His lips quirked into a smile.  "That it does," he replied.  "But I wish you the best of luck.  I'm sure I'll see you again."

---------------


	12. Chapter 12: Thrice Defied

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twelve: Thrice Defied

It started again, in the dead of night, just as he had known it would.  That, along with other reasons, had been why Sirius hadn't bothered sleeping—the wee hours between July 30th and July 31st could mean everything, and he knew it.  More importantly, so did Voldemort.

And there they were, poking and prodding at the holes in the wards, holes that he and Lily and Derek had plugged carefully.  Holes that _shouldn't _have been there at all, openings that he, Frank Longbottom, Fred Randolph, and Adam Macmillan had _not _put there.  But they had been there, and the Death Eaters knew it.  _They knew_.  And awareness of what that meant chilled Sirius to the bone.

He took a deep breath and let it out again.  The wards they had constructed should have been able to withstand anything, Voldemort included—but five Death Eaters had managed to find a way through them only two days before.  Knowledge like that wasn't calculated to make Sirius confident, so tonight would not be a night for sleep.  Lily and Harry had both been in bed for over an hour, but Sirius knew that Derek was also still awake, though the Auror was trying very hard to pretend that he was sleeping.  Sirius, on the other hand, didn't even bother pretending.  He just sat up in the kitchen, watching the wards and waiting for something to happen.

And now something was.  

Sirius sat alone in the darkness, watching and listening.  A hurried set of wards would have required a physical key, like a drawing, but advanced wards were almost always invisible.  They centered on the caster, who would know the moment one of them went down—or should have, except for what had happened two days before.  Sirius _should _have known then, but he hadn't because of the holes.  But there were no holes this time.  There was no way for someone to sneak their way in, no way to get into Grimmauld Place short of blasting the wards to pieces.  

A tingle ran down his spine, and Sirius felt familiar magic testing the wards.  The touch was light, subtle—nothing like Bellatrix's habit of overpowering anything she encountered.  No, this was someone far sneakier than his cousin, someone for whom subtlety was a way of life.  If he had to guess, Sirius would have pegged Lucius Malfoy—smart enough to avoid ever leaving any evidence behind, despite the fact that everyone knew the bastard was a Death Eater.  Yet they'd never been able to bring him to trial.  Not once.

Sirius growled under his breath.  He'd take on Malfoy any day—slimy old Lucius was not someone that he feared.  No, that singular honor belonged to the one wizard who might be able to break through the wards, as carefully constructed and layered that they were.  Only Voldemort possessed the sheer power and skill necessary to break into Grimmauld Place.

_11:36_.  The wall clock was ticking away quietly, counting down the minutes until Voldemort had to act or become a laughingstock amongst his own followers.  There had only been two promises that Voldemort had ever made and failed to keep.  One, of course, had been his first attempt to kill Harry.  Sirius had kept that from him for years, until the Fidelius Charm had expired and James had recast it.  The second, however, was known to far fewer people than the first.  That had been when Voldemort had sworn that he would break Sirius Black and use him against his friends.

This night would be the third broken promise.  Voldemort meant to kill Harry, and Sirius would stop him.  For the third time.

There was simply no choice.  He _had _to stop him.  A line had to be drawn somewhere, and that place had to be that night, else an innocent boy would die simply because he had been born at the end of July.  And Harry didn't deserve to die.  Sirius had meant it, two days before, when he had said that it wasn't fair to Harry.  Life hadn't been fair to _any _of them, but least of all for Harry.  In a life that might have been, everything had descended upon his innocent shoulders, and Sirius had sacrificed a great deal to ensure that never happened again.  He would not fail now.  He could not.

_Tick.__  Tick._  The minutes dragged by.  Midnight was only twenty minutes away, hardly the length of an eye blink in the great scheme of the universe.  Yet Sirius simply waited with a patience that would have shocked every one of his Hogwarts professors, and even most of his instructors on Avalon.  Time changed men, and he waited, knowing that the moment would come, and the line would have to be drawn.  Finally, still alone in the darkness, he felt more than sensed the new arrival.  The wards told him nothing, but Sirius knew.  A shiver tore down his spine.  Voldemort was there.

Fear prickled at the corner of his mind, but his hands were extraordinarily steady.  Each breath came in a firm rhythm, regular and even.  The fear was only instinctive, born of habit and years in hell.  It was the fear of a man who had grown up under the shadow of the Dark Lord's rise to power, who had lost both friends and enemies to that unstoppable evil.  He felt more cold than frightened, really.  Cold and lonely and _ready_.  Sirius took a deep breath, knowing that the attack would come soon.  He had yet to face the Dark Lord for a second time, but this might indeed bring that long dreaded and awaited encounter to a head.  He was not afraid.  Ten years had taken away his ability to fear, just like they had taken away much of his ability to feel.

The wards told him when the first spell was cast, and Sirius felt as it was pushed aside like all of the preceding ones.  Instead of withdrawing, though, the power built and built, until he knew with certainty that the wards _would _break—it was only a matter of time.  Voldemort had none of Lucius Malfoy dangerous subtlety, none of Bellatrix's violent impatience.  This was sheer power, and even the most carefully crafted wards could only hold out against it for so long.  They would break, and he would have to act.  For a moment, Sirius regretted not alerting Dawlish when the Death Eaters had first arrived.  But it was too late for regrets, for anything.  Slowly, Sirius rose from his chair and began to make his way up the stairs.  When the wards shattered, he would be ready.

One step.  Two.  He could feel the power building outside like a storm, and stretched his awareness out to meet it.  Some instinct alerted him just before the final strike—

And then the world before his eyes went black.

--------------

Morning dawned bright and beautiful.  Lily blinked, surprised that she had slept so late.  The wall clock claimed that it was seven o' clock, later than she usually awoke, and she stared at the clock disbelievingly.  Seven o' clock in the morning, on July 31st, 1992.  She had not expected to live this long.

_Harry_.

Lily bolted out of bed without conscious thought, grabbing her wand as she moved.  Though she was positive that she would have awoken had anything happened during the night, she still had to know. Quickly, her quiet footsteps carried her up the hall and to her son's door.  It was closed, just as it had been nine hours before.  Everything seemed to be the same.  Taking a deep breath, Lily pushed the door open; she had not noticed before that her hands were shaking.  A corner of her brain thought briefly to pray, but the rest of her was simply afraid to hope.

Harry lay still, curled up on his side and half buried beneath the blankets.  His glasses sat on the nightstand next to a half full glass of water and a bookmarked and worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_.  Harry looked the exact same way that he had looked on every other morning of his life—he was motionless, relaxed, and looked entirely at peace.  Fear caught in her throat.  Was he too still?  Could someone have made their way into Grimmauld Place unseen, despite the wards and Sirius' reassurances?  Lily felt cold.  _I should never have gone to sleep last night.  I should never have let Sirius convince me to—_

Harry snored.

The feeling went out of Lily's legs and she almost collapsed in relief.  Her son continued to snore, completely unaware of the nervous breakdown his mother had almost had while he slept.  For a long moment, Lily stood and stared, leaning on the doorframe for support and trying to laugh at herself.  But she could not.  Her fears had been real, justified.  Yet there was no reason to fear, now.  Harry was safe and sound, sleeping through the morning like he always had.  Harry was safe, and he was twelve years old today.

They had done it.

Backing up, Lily softly closed the door.  She would let him sleep a little while longer.  The surprise that Sirius and Remus (and Peter, but no one had let that slip to Harry, because then things might have become a tad obvious) had cooked up would not be ready for several hours yet.  Harry could sleep, then, and stay out of their hair.  Birthdays were much easier to plan without excited twelve year olds underfoot.

Lily padded down the stairs, liking the feel of her bare feet against the wooden steps.  She still felt slightly giddy, slightly surprised—a part of her was not ready to believe that everything was okay.  She had expected disaster to strike in the middle of the night, had gone to sleep with her wand under her pillow.  It was almost mind-boggling to think that Voldemort hadn't acted—Lily forced herself to shrug.  She was sure that they would find out in due time, and meanwhile, it was time to find some breakfast.  Stress made her hungry, so she crossed the hall and headed down a second set of stairs.

There was a body at the foot of the kitchen stairs.

"Sirius!" Lily gasped, rushing to his side.  Sirius was breathing, but unconscious, with his wand gripped in a white-knuckled hand.  She shook him quickly, but he did not respond.  He was abnormally pale, too, and Lily lifted her own wand.  _"Enervate."_

Sirius blinked immediately, then turned his head in her direction with surprise.  "Lily?"

"What happened?"

"I—" He sat up, rubbing the back of his head.  Then Sirius turned that boyish half-smile on her.  "I fell down the stairs."

Lily stared, stuttering "What?" But long years of practice warned her that he was telling only a partial truth.  Her eyes narrowed.  "What else?"

Sirius was silent for a moment, and then the boyish gleam left his eyes.  "They came," he finally responded.

"The Death Eaters?" Fear seized up in her chest.

"And Voldemort."

"Voldemort? Why didn't you tell me?" Lily demanded.  Still, her instincts warned her that a great deal was being left unsaid.  Sirius was hiding something.

"Because they failed."  He shrugged.  "They tested the wards and could not break them.  So they left." The grin came back, but it was only a ghostly impression of his old innocence.  "And I fell down the stairs."

"Just like that," she replied warily.  He wasn't lying, but…

Sirius rose, somewhat shakily.  "More or less."

"There's something you aren't telling me," Lily said bluntly, looking him in the eye.  But Sirius' crystal blue eyes only reflected her gaze like a glass mirror.  He shrugged again.

"There's not much to say, Lily.  The wards held, and they left."

"But—" She cut herself off with a sigh.  Lily could sense the wall she had just run into; Sirius would say no more.  She forced her tone to lighten.  "All right.  Breakfast?"

He smiled wanly.  "Sure."

Ten minutes later, Dawlish wandered in, drawn by the smell of bacon.  He took one look at Sirius, though, and asked what had happened.  There was something different in the still drawn and pale face.  But again, Sirius shrugged.  He explained in a few short sentences.

"They're gone?" the Auror echoed.  "Voldemort included?"

Sirius nodded; Lily thought he looked weary.  "Yes."

"But I—I heard nothing." Dawlish stared.  "And I was awake until two or three.  Did it happen later?"

"No.  About eleven-forty, actually." Sirius shook his head.  "Don't worry about it, Derek.  You didn't miss much."

"Didn't miss _much_?" Dawlish's eyebrows rose suddenly.  He sat down, staring across the table at Sirius with suspicion.  "What did you do?"

 Sirius half smiled, then glanced at Lily, who almost dropped the carton of orange juice she had been carrying.  There was something different in his eyes, something she had never seen before.  "Let's just say that I think Voldemort is suitably distracted.  Harry will no longer be his primary target."

"What did you do?" Lily echoed.

"Me?" he asked tonelessly.  "I fell down the stairs."

"That's a lie." She hadn't meant it to sound so accusing, but… Sirius' lips quirked into a cold smile.

"True."

"Sirius?" There was something frightening in his expression.  His blue eyes were startlingly light in his face, and for a moment Lily thought she saw something dangerous flash through them—but then it was gone as Sirius smiled tiredly.  And this time, it was a real smile.

"Sorry." He shrugged.  "It's not a big deal, Lily.  Really.  What matters is that Voldemort is distracted.  That's all."

Again, the wall.  

Dawlish, however, was still staring at Sirius, and the look in his face made Lily abruptly remember that he had been there, in Azkaban, when Sirius had faced Voldemort for the first time.  _Was last night the second time?_ she wondered silently, reading the same question in Dawlish's eyes.  _Or was it something different?_

"Mum!"

With a rush of footsteps on the stairs, Harry burst into the room, and the remaining darkness left Sirius' eyes.  

--------------

Four hours later, Dawlish had departed and Remus and Peter arrived, bringing "Sirius and Remus' Surprise" with them.  That, of course, amounted to something far different from anything Harry would have expected—and more valuable than an entire roomful of presents could ever be.  A part of Lily hadn't wanted to keep this a secret from her son, but the look on his face when Sirius opened the front door made all the waiting worthwhile.  

"Dad!"  Harry leapt forward as Remus pushed the "wheelchair" (although it resembled the Muggle device and had started life as one, Lily wasn't sure if any creation of Sirius' could be called anything as simple as a "wheelchair") through the door.

James' face split into a grin as he opened his arms to catch his excited son.  Harry might have been twelve, but he wasn't too old to hug his father on this day.  "Hey, kid."

"Are you home, then? Did it work? Do you have to go back to St. Mungo's? Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" A delighted glare pointed in Remus' direction.  "How long are you here for? And Peter?"

The adults all laughed.  There were moments when Harry was far too old for his age, but other times, he was pure child.  Lily grinned as James made a show of trying to figure out which question to answer first, assuming the famous "thinker" pose until Harry shouted "Hey!" in exasperation.  They all laughed again.

"Well, yes, obviously, I am home.  Or Sirius' home, anyway." James' hazel eyes danced.  "Assuming you'll let me out of the doorway, that is."

"Oh!" Harry reddened a bit as his family laughed, but also eyed James' wheelchair warily as they all wandered into the library.  

"As for the rest," James began, "No, I don't have to go back to St. Mungo's, but I do have some interesting medicines to take while I'm here.  So, no, I'm not better yet...but I hope to be soon." Harry's face fell a little bit, but his father's smile was contagious.  "And Remus and Peter are here for the day.  For some reason, Wormtail's superior at the Ministry decided to let him have the day off.  I can't imagine why."

"Perhaps because you always have an ulterior motive," Sirius retorted with a grin.

"Moi? I am the soul of innocence and virtue!"

Lily choked.  James looked hurt.

"Of course you are, dear," she snickered, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.  "And I am Glinda the Good Witch."

"Wasn't she fat?" Peter quipped.

"Peter!" Lily tried to give him a playful slap, but Remus got in the way as he laughed, and her hand bounced off of the headmaster's shoulder.

"Hey! I thought Glinda was supposed to be nice, not _abusive_."

Lily smiled sweetly.  "Depends on who's doing the thinking, Remus."

"Sirius, kick him for me," James interjected.  

"Gladly."

"_Ow__!_"

"Awh, did little Remy bump his knee—_Yikes!_" Peter dodged as Remus tried to shove him, and then Sirius was suddenly in the mix.  Within two seconds, chaos had ensued, and they were all laughing.  Several crazy moments passed before anyone could concentrate on anything besides tickling, kicking, or dodging.  Finally, though, Lily—who had ended up in James' lap somehow—managed to catch enough breath to ask:

"Lunch, anyone?"

"Food?" Peter perked up. "Excellent! I'm starving."

"You're always starving, Wormtail."

"So sayeth the 'picky' one, huh?" Peter countered.  Everyone knew that Remus would eat anything, provided it had stopped moving long enough to stick a fork into.  He only had _looked _skinny during their Hogwarts years, and that had been caused by his difficult transformations.  Lily grinned; before she'd gotten to know Remus better, she had often wondered if he had a tapeworm trapped in his belly.  Where he put the food, she didn't know, but his ability to consume massive amounts of _anything_ outclassed even Sirius and James, who Lily knew could eat a troll out of house and home.  Especially together.

Remus grinned, and then shrugged.  "You'll have that sometimes."

--------------

Lunch was, to put it mildly, entertaining.  By the time Peter, Remus, Sirius, and James were even halfway through the meal, Kreacher was thoroughly traumatized, and if Lily hadn't known what a nasty little creature he was, she would have felt sorry for him.  Bits and pieces of presents were strewn all over the kitchen, too, because none of them were stupid enough to think that they'd manage to eat before a twelve-year-old got his birthday presents.  Besides, James and his friends usually acted right around Harry's maturity level, and enjoyed the gift-giving almost as much as Harry enjoyed receiving them.

Lily, however, knew that this was only the beginning.  Fred and George Weasley, seemingly determined to create trouble, had sent Harry a box of Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, which her son had been entirely too delighted to receive—and worse yet, so had her _husband._  Ron had sent Harry a brand new book which Lily was certain Molly hadn't seen, entitled _How to Make Your Own Dungbombs—Better Than Ever_.  Hermione's gift had been a bit more conventional; she'd sent him a very nice broomstick servicing kit that made Lily sigh in relief.  She had noticed, however, a noticeable lack of a gift from Lee Jordan, and saw worry flash across her son's face.  Biting her lip, Lily fought back the urge to say something.  She'd had several Muggleborn friends while at Hogwarts, and remembered when some of their parents hadn't let them come back.  It hurt, and it was wrong.  Magic could not be forgotten.

But Harry could at least put the thought aside long enough to enjoy his birthday, and he was all but buried underneath a pile of presents.  James had, predictably, insisted that Lily buy a practice Snitch for their "budding Seeker," and Sirius didn't help matters one bit by getting Harry a gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies, on top of a new Wizarding Chess Set (Harry's had been destroyed along with Godric's Hollow) and a gigantic box of Chocolate Frog Cards.  They were spoiling the boy, and Remus was hardly any better.  He must have conspired with Sirius, because the headmaster got Harry a display case for his Chocolate Frog Cards, a Screaming Yo-Yo (Lily could only imagine where _that _would lead) and an oversized Puddlemere United poster.  Peter chimed in with a box of Whizzing Worms, a Grow Your Own Warts Kit, a first edition of _The History of Magical Pranking, _and a beautiful red and gold photo album, adorned with the Gryffindor crest.  Years ago, Lily had tried (energetically) to convince James' best friends that they needn't buy so much for Harry, but all her protests had fallen on deaf ears.  Then again, with those four, _lots _of things went unheard—all in all, it was amazing that the Marauders weren't completely deaf, because they certainly acted like it sometimes.

This day, however, Lily could put all her worries aside.  Harry wasn't a spoiled child, and he was absolutely glowing—it was his birthday, and twelve years old or not, Harry knew how close he had come to never reaching twelve years old at all.  So Lily wasn't about to argue.  Not now, and not ever.  Not with those three, anyway.

Various other friends had sent presents, and combined with everything Lily had bought (much according to James' insistence, but not all), Harry had a virtual mountain of gifts.  Most of them he could not wait to show his friends, of course, and—

"But Mum, it's not like the Weasleys' aren't wizards or anything and it's not like I'm asking to go to the Grangers!" Harry pleaded long after the birthday cake had been eaten.  

Lily sighed.  Why was it that those big green eyes always won her over? She should have been immune to their allure, seeing as how they were _hers_ to start with, but somehow, the pleading look always worked.  

"Now you know how I feel," James chuckled, reading her mind for the millionth time. 

"Unfortunately," she groused, making both husband and son grin.  But James' smile faded quickly as he became serious.

"She hasn't said no, Harry," he explained.  "Just that we have to be careful.  I have to talk to Arthur tonight, anyway.  We'll work something out for next week, so that everyone is safe."

Harry's look became mulish.  "Next week?"

Lily opened her mouth to reply, but Peter beat her to it.  "Don't worry, Harry.  You'll have plenty of things to do between now and then."

"Besides," Sirius interjected with a grin, "I think that's the best you're going to get, judging from the look on Daddy Prong's face.  He's gone serious again.  There's no use trying to make him change his mind.  Darn responsibility."

"_And_ your mother has a point," Remus added.  "You don't want to endanger your friends, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then let us work on the details," James seamlessly picked up where his friends had left off.  "Believe me, Harry.  I had no intention of trying to keep you away from your friends from the summer." Four sets of eyes met, and four identical smirks flourished.  "After all, I know how dangerous trying to do _that _can prove to be." 

---------------

"How're the legs, Prongs?" Sirius asked several hours later.  The four had gathered in the Library while Lily helped Harry put his birthday presents away—Peter hadn't been able to miss the hurt in James' eyes when Harry had accidentally asked his father to help him hang up his new Puddlemere United poster.  Some things just weren't the same.

James shrugged.  "Sometimes I think I'm getting feeling back, but the healers tell me that's mostly my imagination, especially since it's usually when all the potions start wearing off.  So, no different, really."

"I'm sure we'll find something." But even Sirius', the eternal optimist, eyes were dark.  Hope was hard to come by these days.

"Have you thought about asking Severus if he knows of anything that may help?" Remus asked unexpectedly, making Peter and Sirius exchange a distasteful look.  Snape might have been on the rightside, but that didn't make him a friend. 

Except for Remus.  But then again, Remus was a saint.  Everyone knew that.

"Not really.  But then again, I haven't seen him in…awhile," James replied with another shrug.  "While all you special Order people were meeting at Hogwarts, remember, I was stuck at St. Mungo's, thanks to Peter here."

Peter snorted.  "Damn straight.  With no help from you, mind."

The others snickered, but the amusement did not last long.  They all knew that there was little time for humor these days, even for them.

"So, what happened last night?" James asked Sirius, whose crystal blue eyes narrowed at the question.

"Lily put you up to asking, did she?" 

"No." James' smile was fleeting.  "But since Grimmauld Place is still standing and everyone is still alive, I gather something must have come to a head.  Likewise, since there's been nothing appropriately grisly plastered all over the _Prophet,_I assume that it must have been something very different—and unexpectedly quiet. All my logic, however, just leaves me wondering what in the name of Merlin it was that you _did_."

Sirius shrugged too quickly.  "Not much."

"Right." Remus rolled his eyes before James had to bother.  "You're a bad liar, Padfoot."

Peter, however, was studying Sirius' face, and thought he saw something flash in his friend's eyes.  Coldness crept down his spine, and he had to wait a moment before speaking to make sure that his voice did not shake.  Peter took a deep breath, then asked, "He was here, wasn't he?"

No one would ever have to ask who that he was.

"Yes." 

One word made three hearts stop cold.  More important than what Sirius had said though, was how he had said it.  His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and…cold?  No, cold was the wrong word.  _Accepting_.  Something had happened, and he accepted the fact that it had.

The silence was killing them all, but Sirius did not seem eager to continue.  They all waited, trying to figure out how to ask, but he remained quiet.  Finally, James broke the uneasy silence.  Marauders weren't supposed to have uneasy silences.

"Are you going to tell us what happened, Sirius, or leave us here holding our breaths?"

"Sorry." The distant look faded, replaced by an embarrassed half smile.  "I wasn't really lying when I said that not much happened…Voldemort and the Death Eaters came, but they couldn't get through the wards.  So they left."

"You're leaving a lot out," Remus said gently.  But even his quiet tone was strong enough to make Sirius testy.

"Yes, Moony, I am," he snapped, then colored immediately.  "Sorry."

"Are you all right?" Peter asked.  Sirius wasn't one to snap.

"Yes.  No." Sirius sighed.  "I don't know."

"What happened?" James asked again.  

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted.  He broke off to stare at a bookshelf for a moment; following his gaze, Peter noticed that it was the most innocent shelf in the room, full of books on Transfiguration, Runes, and Divination, unlike the nastier works common in this library.  He shrugged. "I don't understand it myself, yet."

"That's not good," Peter said before he could stop himself, and then promptly wanted to smack his own forehead.  There were moments when he wished that he could cut his own tongue out…but fortunately, they were a lot less common these days.  

Sirius shot an unexpected but tired smile in his direction.  "Tell me about it, Wormtail."

"What don't you understand?" Remus, ever the professor, asked contemplatively.

"Everything." Then the tired look became almost mischievous.  "I told Lily that I fell down the stairs."

"And she believed you?" James asked dubiously.

"Of course she did." Sirius grinned. "I'm the soul of innocence and virtue!"

"Or course you are," Peter agreed sarcastically as Remus snorted.

"The day I transform into a bunny rabbit, you are!" 

"Hey!" Sirius objected.  "I did!" He snickered.  "Fall down the stairs, I mean.  Not become innocent and virtuous overnight."

"Why?" Peter asked.

"And for that matter, which stairs?" James added.

"Kitchen.  And good question." Again, Sirius' eyes became distant, and Peter realized that he _was _still trying to figure this out for himself.  It was odd to see Sirius with that expression on his face, because he had always been the carefree one, the reckless one—he understood so much through simple instinct that Peter had rarely seen him commence intellectual soul-searching.  Finally, though, he continued.

"It was when he tested the wards."  Again, a pause, and again, no one had to ask who that _he _was.  "I started up the stairs because I knew the wards would break…and then everything went black.  And they didn't.  Break, I mean."

Remus was studying Sirius closely.  "Why not?"

"That's what I'm not sure about…" he trailed off, and Peter thought he heard an unfamiliar undertone in Sirius' voice.  "I've still got to figure it out.  Find some answers for myself." His eyes flickered to each one of them in turn, and Peter shivered at the intensity that was buried somewhere beneath the surface.  Ten years in Azkaban had _changed _Sirius, and now something else had, too—or maybe the change was just reemerging, coming to the surface once more.  

"I'll tell you when I know," Sirius promised quietly.  "I promise.  But right now…I can't tell you what I don't know myself.  I can say, though, that Voldemort won't be coming after Harry again." He smiled coldly.  "I think I've got him suitably distracted." 

---------------


	13. Chapter 13: Lonely Roads

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirteen: Lonely Roads

_11:36._

The street was quiet, peaceful.  All the good Muggles were undoubtedly sleeping in their beds or watching their useless televisions in order to fry their already over-entertained brains.  The automobiles that lined the streets were silent and cold, still and forgotten.  Late night meant all the working Muggles had come for the day, fat, dumb, and happy.  They were complacent little Muggles, settled into their _ordinary_ lives, and had no idea what had just arrived on their street.  The idiots were quite satisfied with their ignorance, content to remain blinded.  Except for one—in one house, the residents were anything but Muggles.

They, unlike the others, would be waiting.

Footsteps sounded soft on warm concrete.  His Death Eaters had been testing the wards for a quarter of an hour, yet there were not chinks in this armor—Bella had wasted her chance.  The subtle openings of before had been crafted with care, meticulously worked into the first set of wards, and made invisible by using the magical defenses of Grimmauld Place against themselves.  It should have been simple—a willingly opened door would have torn all the defenses down and allowed a lightning strike to kill all those inside.  And he had trusted Bellatrix to accomplish that important mission, trusted her to fulfill a vow he had made.

Failure, as even Bella had learned, was painful.

"We will have them within an hour, My Lord," Lucius Malfoy's silky voice said at his elbow.

_11:38._

The man who had been Tom Riddle fingered his wand contemplatively, briefly considering hexing his servant simply to remind him of his place.  But Lucius was useful, and doing so was not worth the distraction.  Besides, Death Eaters were noisy fools, and stealth was of the essence.

However, Lucius Malfoy was also not a fool, and was intelligent enough to interpret his master's silence as annoyance.  The senior Death Eater bowed his head.  "Forgive my impudence, Master."

Voldemort let him stew for a moment, ignoring the apology and studying Number 12, Grimmauld Place from behind impassive features.  It was an ancient house, one he knew well, and it was the ancestral home of a family whose members had served him very well.  Yet it was also the home of one who had defied him for too long, who sheltered those he meant to kill.  Grimmauld Place now existed in defiance of tradition, and that would not do.

"An hour is not acceptable, Lucius."

Malfoy hesitated for barely a heartbeat, but the Dark Lord sensed his fear.  Lucius was not accustomed to failure, even less so than Bella—but like the others, he could still fear the consequences.  He hid it well, but not well enough. 

"We shall hurry, Master," he said quickly.

Voldemort snorted.  "No.  You will not."

"My Lord?"

Any other moment, he might have savored Lucius' sudden terror—but not now.  They had not an hour to spare, and his loyal but imprecise followers had not the power to press.  The Dark Lord turned to look at his lieutenant with a cold smile.

"There is no need." His eyes narrowed.  "I will do so."

_11:40._

He stretched out his senses, wand in hand.  Unexpectedly, he felt another mind reach out to meet his own, yet—he was not truly surprised.  He had known that tonight would bring opportunities, and this was one contest that had been put aside for too long.  

A simple spell tested the wards, and he was not surprised when it was pushed aside.  The defenses were powerful, yes…but not strong enough.  Nothing was, given enough time and power, both of which he had in abundance.  Twenty minutes was more than enough, and they would learn.

Defiance would not be tolerated, and Lord Voldemort did not forget.

Lucius and the others had been fools.  They had withdrawn each failed spell and cast another, hoping to find the one simple form of magic that worked.  But they did not understand power, or how to layer magic and build strength.  They approached magic conventionally, the fools.  Yet he was above that, beyond that.  Lord Voldemort did not play with simple magic.  He did not obey _conventional _rules.

Instead, he stretched out further and expanded the spell, letting the power build and build upon itself.  It would not be long, even when he felt another power reach out to counter his own.  Black was just a fool, soon to be a dead fool.  No one crossed Lord Voldemort and survived to do so again—and there were few stupid enough to even try.  He might have respected the irrational courage that the other showed, though, if it were not so misplaced.

He was finished playing.  It was time.

_11:41._

Voldemort reached out once more, readying himself for the final strike.  Black was ready, but the weak fool could never be ready enough.  Darkness swirled around him, and he embraced it, shaped it, struck—

And something in his mind screamed a warning before the final second, yet it was too late.  His knees buckled, and the world went dark.

--------------

"You're up late," a voice suddenly said, startling Remus out of his reverie.  He'd been wandering around the Hogwarts grounds, mentally connected with the school and looking at the defenses that generations of headmasters had created and adding his own.  Although it was only the first of August, he knew that there was very little time before the school year started…and once that happened, Hogwarts would become a target.  Voldemort had claimed the Wizarding Prison seven years before.  He had destroyed the Ministry of Magic just a few months previously.  To the frightened public, he seemed likely to rule everything within just another year…except for Hogwarts.  Hogwarts he had never cracked.  Hogwarts, he had tried to take once—and failed.  

Dumbledore had stopped him, but now Dumbledore was dead.  He would try again.

"Hello, Severus," Remus turned, smiling.  "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to come here, either," his deputy headmaster admitted with a shrug.  His hands, Remus noticed, were buried in the pockets of his black robes, and Snape's shoulders were slightly hunched, relaxed.  It was a posture that the students never saw from him, and one that it had taken Remus years to earn the right to see.  Severus Snape trusted very few, and Remus was honored to be on that short list.  "But it's a good place to think."

"That it is," the headmaster agreed quietly.  "I was checking the wards.  Would you like to walk with me?"

"Why not?" Snape shrugged again, and for several long moments, they walked in companionable silence.  Had anyone told Remus, all those years ago, that he would become friends with Severus Snape, he would have told that idiot that they were crazy.  Yet even James had landed on amicable terms with Snape, and Sirius tolerated him much better than anyone had expected.  Peter, on the other hand, seemed to understand Snape better than the rest of them combined, which Remus thought was probably related to the paths they had both chosen…and forsaken.  Their generation had started out so innocently, pranking and joking and hating without thought…now, though, they were all intimates of darkness.

And the road they traveled was far from over.  Far from over.

"How have you been?" Remus asked as they walked past the lake.

"Well enough," came the dry reply.  But then a trace of wistfulness entered Snape's voice.  "As usual, I cannot wait for the holidays to be over.  It's easier here."

 "Yes." Remus did not need to ask; he knew the difference.  During the summer, Severus was a Death Eater, and spent his life fulfilling the role that he had once relished and was now obligated to play.  But come September, he could retreat from all that, even if only slightly, and live in a different world.  

Year after year, he had played this game.  _It has to eat at him_, Remus thought quietly, knowing that to be true.  For longer than Remus had taught at Hogwarts, Snape had been Dumbledore's spy, the highest ranking Death Eater to ever turn to the Order of the Phoenix, and the only one to survive for so long.  Yet Snape struck a delicate balance, and he had been doing so for over twelve years.  Sooner or later, something would have to give.

"I was thinking," Severus said in an obvious attempt to change the subject, "about the Order, actually."

"What about?"

"The Inner Circle has been maimed, Remus," his deputy said quietly.  "Isn't it time that we formed a new one?"

"The Sixth Circle?" the headmaster echoed quietly, sighing.  He was worried, too, but… "I wish we could." 

"What?" Snape turned to stare at him.

"I wish we could," Remus repeated.  "Fawkes refuses to.  I don't know why."

"But he's…"

"Yeah." Remus bit his lip, and shrugged helplessly.  "Maybe Dumbledore could have convinced him, but I don't know how.  Every time I ask, he adamantly refuses…he's flown away several times, as if to prove his point.  He comes back a day later, of course, but Fawkes is clearly saying no.  Not now."

"This is a rather inconvenient time for that damn bird to get finicky," Snape said dryly.

"Tell me about it."

"So, what then? Do we wait?" the other asked, and Remus thought that he heard unease in his voice, but could not be certain.

"I guess we have to," the headmaster swallowed.  "But I would like to bring the Circle together.  I think we need to."

"I agree," Snape replied immediately, and there was no uncertainty in his brisk voice now.  Perhaps Remus had been imagining it.  "When and where?"

"In two days, on August third," Remus told him.  "At Grimmauld Place." 

--------------

It was a perfectly nondescript house in a perfectly nondescript neighborhood on the outskirts of Muggle Pembroke.  The sheer normality of it was probably what had saved them—that, and perhaps a bit of lingering sentimentality on the part of Narcissa Malfoy, who might remember what family meant.  But not Bellatrix.  Sirius acquitted Trixie from feeling those 'weaker' feelings. 

Then again, he acquitted her of feeling anything at all, so that wasn't much of a surprise.  

Sirius headed up the front walk, pausing briefly to watch a group of Muggle kids play hide and seek down at the other end of the street.  The early afternoon sun was just sort of blistering hot, but large trees on either side of the street provided ample shade.  All the big lawns were well tended, with pretty flowers lining each walk, but for all the trimmed trees and pruned grass, the street looked lived in and _normal_.  It was all comfortingly normal, in fact—discarded toys lay forgotten amidst the roses and an uncoiled hose stretched across one lawn like a bright green snake.

But even that image could not mar the illusion of perfection.  These homes were evidence of summers that he would like to remember, not of the sort that he had lived.  A wistful smile tried to twist his lips out of shape at that thought, but there was little regret in his mind.  Only distant longing was present, and Sirius knew that wasn't real.  Birds sang and children laughed joyously, carelessly.  They had no worries during this perfect summer holiday, nothing to worry about at all.  The beautiful and peaceful normality would have bored Sirius to death.

The doorknocker, he noticed, was shaped like a brass raven, and that did make him smile.  _The more things change, the more they stay the same_.  Their Muggle neighbors undoubtedly thought that the Tonks had just chosen the raven because it was a pretty bird.  It was probably a common enough doorknocker, and even it if wasn't, there were plenty of stranger things on Muggle houses these days.  Sirius, on the other hand, acknowledged the compromise evident in the raven-shaped doorknocker on a Muggle door.  The Tonks might hide, but they would not forget.

_Knock, knock._

Within a few short seconds the door flew open, and Sirius found himself face to face with a black-haired and blue-eyed boy of about eight.

"Hi," the boy said, grinning.  His brilliant blue eyes were glowing, and made Sirius' heart wrench in an unexpected way.  The boy had the classic Black features, from hair, to eyes, to high cheekbones and a small nose.  _But was I ever that innocent?_

Still, if Sirius had ever thought to wonder if he'd found the right house, there was no doubting that now.  Andromeda's youngest child was plainly a classical Black in the way that his older sister would never be.  The trusting expression was the only departure from the perfect old mold—this boy was almost too happy, almost too carefree.  He would not have fit in with his mother's brooding generation, or with those whom his grandparents would have praised as a fine example of everything that a pureblooded wizard should be.  Yet he might fit in with the _next _generation…Sirius surprised himself by needing to swallow.  _If I ever have a son, will he look like this?_

"Hello," he finally managed to reply around the lump in his throat.  "My name is Sirius.  I'm looking for your mother."

"I'm Patroclus, Patroclus Tonks.  But everyone just calls me Pat." Again, the blinding smile, and Patroclus stuck out a fearless hand for Sirius to shake.  Despite himself, the older wizard chuckled as the boy turned and shouted over his shoulder.

"Mum! Door!" Then he looked back at Sirius, his eyes shining with troublesome glee.  "Mum always says not to let strangers in the house, but you look okay."

But Sirius shook his head before Patroclus could step aside.  "I think that I'd best wait," he said quietly.

"Who is it, Pat?" a new voice asked—a male voice.  A second later, Sirius found himself face to face with the sandy brown hair and green eyes of Ted Tonks, who he had not seen since Nymphadora's first birthday, so many years before.  Immediately, the green eyes widened to the size of double-thickness bottomed cauldrons, and the Muggleborn wizard blinked slowly, staring at his visitor with undisguised surprise. 

Sirius was careful to keep his hands in the open, held empty and far away from sleeves or pockets that might hide a wand.  He waited, well aware that one wrong move might lead to his being mistaken for the _wrong _Black.  Such was the consequence of being the sole white sheep in the Black family tree—his aristocratic relatives had never made themselves popular with Muggleborn wizards.  Especially Muggleborns like Ted Tonks, who dared to marry deviant pureblood witches.

However, Ted's face quickly split into an unexpected smile.  "Sirius Black!" the other exclaimed.  "I didn't expect to see you on my doorstep.  Come in, please!"

"Hello, Ted," Sirius managed to say, blinking.  "I didn't expect you to remember me so quickly."

"Of course I recognize you," Andromeda's husband grinned, opening the door wider.  "Who wouldn't?"

For a split second, Sirius floundered, not comprehending a word of what his cousin-in-law meant.  Then, he smiled sheepishly, resisting the urge to slap himself.  _Of course._For better or for worse, his face had been slapped on too many front pages of _The Daily Prophet _for anyone to mistake Sirius for someone else. Not now, anyway… Stark reality intervened with the assumed normality of the situation.  _Not ever, now_.  

"Oh, right."  The reply sounded wooden even to his own ears.

"What brings you here, anyway?" Ted asked as Sirius stepped inside, closing the door behind the Auror.  

"I was hoping to talk to Andromeda, actually," Sirius admitted.  "Is she home?"

Ted nodded.  "She's upstairs." He turned to look at his son.  "Will you go ask your Mum to come downstairs, Pat?"

"Sure!" The boy bolted off, taking the stairs two at a time, and for a moment, Sirius caught himself staring wistfully at Patroclus' retreating back.  _What's gotten into me today?_ he wondered, shaking off the feeling and following Ted into a spacious kitchen.  _What am I missing?_  But he knew the answer, even though it burned.  

_Life.__  A normal and everyday life._

"You can sit down if you want," Ted said, suddenly uneasy.  His initial exuberance had faded, and Sirius could see thoughts racing behind his intelligent green eyes.  Ted was anything but a fool, and he was well aware of who was standing in his half-Muggle, half-Wizarding kitchen, and knew that Sirius would not have come without reason.

"Thank you," Sirius responded lightly, dropping into the offered chair at the kitchen table.  He wished that Andromeda would just show up, but until then he needed to ease Ted's nerves.  Obviously, Andromeda hadn't heard when Patroclus called her the first time, or maybe she'd just been busy—either way, Sirius was stuck with Ted, who clearly didn't know what to do with him.  He tried a slight smile on for size.  "So, how old is Pat?"

"Almost nine," the proud father replied with the expected smile.  "We always wished that we'd had another child after Nymphadora, and then we realized that there was no reason why we _couldn't_."

"He seems like a bright boy." Sirius hated small talk, and sincerely hoped that Ted was feeling more comfortable than he was.

"Oh, he is.  Damnably so, sometimes." Ted grinned.  "He's a bit too trusting, of course—as you've already seen—but he probably gets that from me.  I'm nowhere near as naturally suspicious as you Blacks."

Sirius chuckled before Ted could start to worry if he felt insulted.  "Most people aren't," he replied easily.  "Fortunately."

"Sirius!"

He bounced to his feet as his cousin's surprised exclamation filled the kitchen.  Andromeda stood framed in the doorway, as brown-haired, blue-eyed, and Black-featured as ever, and the years hadn't added any stress lines to her face that her horrible sisters hadn't etched into it years ago.  Sirius immediately stepped forward to hug her and plant a kiss on Andromeda's cheek, but though she smiled, there was a distance between them that had never been there before.  Extremely conscious of that coldness, Sirius spoke softly.

"Hello, Droma."

She pulled back to look him in the eye; Andromeda had always been brisk and businesslike.  "What brings you here?"

Her words were an unconscious echo of what he had said to Narcissa three weeks before, and Sirius had to force a smile.  _What's happened to us?_ he wondered painfully.  _Did we grow and change so much?  _Then an unbidden thought added itself to the empty feeling he felt.

_Or did I?_

Still, he had to answer.  "Aside from the sheer happiness of a family reunion?" he smiled crookedly.  "I've seen Cissa and Trixie lately, so it only seemed appropriate to visit you."

His favorite cousin laughed.  "I bet that was fun!" Then Andromeda sobered.  "She hates it when you call her Trixie, you know."

"Of course she does," Sirius replied with a shrug.  "That's why I do."

"You always have enjoyed courting danger, Sirius," she replied without smiling.

"Enjoyed? No." He sighed, wishing that the conversation hadn't turned serious so quickly.  "Understood the necessity of doing so? Yes."

Her blue eyes, so like his own, turned immediately wary; Droma understood the undertones in his voice all too well.  "And that's why you're here."

It wasn't a question, and an uneasy silence filled the room.  Sirius only gazed at his cousin, hoping that she'd meet his eyes and knowing that she would not.  Instead, Andromeda stared at the refrigerator, a frown marring her pretty features.  She knew enough to guess his purpose, and this wasn't the reaction Sirius had hoped for…no matter how much he had expected it.  Finally, Ted cleared his throat.

"Why don't we sit down?" he asked quietly, making Sirius smile nostalgically.  Ted had always been a peacemaker, even back when there hadn't been any peace to make.  _As if that has changed at all_.

Chairs scratched across the floor, and soon the uneasy trio was seated around the kitchen table.  Patroclus hadn't come down with his mother, which made Sirius guess that Andromeda had probably told him not to…she was, after all, anything but stupid.  There was another uncomfortable silence while Sirius tried to figure out what to say and found himself uncharacteristically silent.  _Just once_, he thought quietly, _I wish that I could talk to Droma like normal cousins might, not with this wall between us that the Black family tradition has created.  Even she and I, the 'unacceptable' members of the family, cannot._  Then again, even normal Blacks weren't normal.

"I know this is more than just a social call, Sirius," Droma finally said.  "Even though I am glad to see you.  It's good to see you looking well after everything that's…happened."

A wan smile banished his darker thoughts.  "Thanks.  It is good to see you, cousin," Sirius replied.  "And I'm sorry that I haven't been in touch since Azkaban.  Things have just been, well, busy."

"Oh, really?" For a moment, her eyes danced.  "I can't imagine why."

"Nor I." Sirius chuckled, too, but the moment did not last.  In reality, it could not.  So he shrugged before Droma had to ask again.  "I ran into Nymphadora three days ago."

"At Gringotts?" his cousin asked immediately, making Sirius start.  He almost repeated the name of the Wizarding bank, but the sudden flash of knowledge in Ted's eyes made him force any expression off of his face.

"Yeah, at Gringotts," Sirius lied seamlessly.  "We talked for a bit, and it made me think…" He trailed off and allowed himself a small sigh, wondering how _this _had managed to happen.  Droma didn't know.  _She has no idea that her daughter is training to become an Auror_.

A chill wormed its way down his spine, yet Ted's eyes thanked him for telling the lie.  This was not what Sirius had expected—but Andromeda was watching him, waiting, so he shrugged off the discomfort and continued.

"Between that and Cissa showing up on my doorstep three weeks ago, I started thinking about you," he said, and watched Droma's eyebrows rise.  Sirius clarified, "and thinking about the war."

"Oh?"

Her voice gave nothing away, and Sirius sighed, holding his sudden irritation back with an effort.  "Yes," he replied quietly.  "About the war.  And about where you stand in it."

One dark brown eyebrow rose, and it said legions.  "I would think that has become clear over the years, Sirius," she replied impassively.  "I have too many family members on both sides to choose between them."

"It can't always be that way, Droma."  Sirius tried to keep his voice gentle, but he knew that he failed.

"And why do you say that?" Andromeda challenged back, her voice sharp.

"There is going to come a time when everyone has to pick sides," he replied, keeping impatience out of his voice with an effort.  "And that time is going to be soon.  In a war like this, there is no middle ground, Droma.  You're either with Voldemort or against him."

"Is that a _threat_, Sirius?" she asked with surprise, anger glinting in her blue eyes.  "Are you saying that everyone who isn't _with _you is against you?" 

"No, I'm not," he replied quietly, feeling cold inside.  "And I'm not threatening you, Droma.  I never would.  But that's how Voldemort sees it.  _He_ doesn't respect neutrality."

"So far, he has," she retorted.

"Do you expect that to last forever?"

He hadn't meant the question to sound so challenging, but once said it was too late to take back.  Andromeda's eyes flashed, but he saw her rein her temper back with an effort.  Still, her words came out short and pinched off, as if she was struggling not to shout at him.

"We've made a good life for ourselves, Sirius.  Heaven knows, I don't want _him_ to succeed, but I have to think of my family first.  So far, he hasn't remembered us, but if any one of us gets involved, that will change—and I won't have my husband or my children endangered simply because their blood isn't _pure _enough for him."  The last sentence was a defiant snarl, thrown into his face to see what Sirius would make of it.  Unfortunately, it was something he had heard far too many times…and seen the speakers of such words die, taking their hopes, and their families, with them.

"Voldemort won't ignore you forever.  And he doesn't forget." Ted shuddered as Sirius said the dreaded name without blinking, but Sirius continued, feeling empty and cold.  "You know that.  I know that.  It's time, Droma.  I respect the fact that you want to protect your family, but you can't do that alone.  Not anymore."

"Can't I?" she challenged, and he saw the famous Black temper burst free of its cage.

Sirius, however, was not angry.  He only wished that he was.  "And what will you do when the Death Eaters come?" he asked quietly.  "Will you hope that Narcissa's influence will spare you just a little while longer, or Bellatrix might feel a moment of compassion for the first time in her life?  Or will you watch as your husband dies because he's a Muggleborn, and then your children because they are _tainted_, and then you because you dared to be different?  What will it be, Droma? Will you hide until they come, praying that they have forgotten, or will you do something to stop them before more innocents die?"

Andromeda stared at him, eyes wide with fury—and yes, with pain.  His words had struck home, had outlined every one of her deepest fears.  Sirius only wished that he could ease the hurt instead of increasing it.

"The time to choose is now, cousin," he said quietly.  "You can't hide anymore."

But her eyes flashed again, and she stood, almost shaking with fury.  "You," Droma spat, "cannot just waltz in here and ruin my life!"

"I'm not trying to ruin your life," Sirius said quietly.  "Only to tell you the truth."

Andromeda straightened, and pointed a shaking hand at the door.  But her voice was suddenly cold, and reminded Sirius of her sisters in ways that he would rathered not remembered.  "Get out!"

He sighed, and rose, feeling his heart grow heavy in his chest.  For all his light words about _why _he had started thinking about the Tonks, Sirius had come for more reasons than Narcissa's visit and Nymphadora's presence on Avalon.  He had come because he knew that the Dark Lord would strike out soon, and knew that those blows would fall closer to home than he could possibly fear—for three days previously, Sirius had done the impossible, and he knew that there would be consequences.  He only wished that those _consequences_ could understand.  _Do you think I want to ruin your happiness, Droma?_ he wanted to ask.  _I wish that I could leave you alone and be certain of your safety.  _

_But I would rather you be alive than be happy, cousin._

"He's right, Droma." Ted had been silent throughout the entire exchange, but now his hand lay gently on his wife's arm.   "We can't hide anymore."

---------------


	14. Chapter 14: Great and Dark Days

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Fourteen: Great and Dark Days

"So.  There you have it."

"Yeah." Sirius' reply was tight, distant, and made heads turn.  That, in turn, made him smile.  "Sorry.  Don't mind me.  I was just thinking…elsewhere."

"Really, Padfoot? I would never have expected _you _to do that," James retorted, but saw his friend's face grin back while his eyes did not.  Whatever had happened, however it had happened, was still eating at Sirius.  It had changed him somehow, inside, warped whatever innocence he still had into something darker, something…greater.  Yet the change was frightening, and James had a feeling that they all needed to know why.

Five days had passed since Harry's birthday, five days in which James and his friends had tried to act as if nothing had changed.  Harry, for the most part, had been fooled—he'd spent the time with his friends, being a simple twelve year old boy and acting accordingly.  Both he and Hermione had spent the last two nights at the Weasleys', unknowingly under the eyes of several Aurors as well.  But nothing had happened, much to James' relief.  Voldemort seemed as confused by this defeat as Sirius was by defeating him.   He was waiting, James knew—but waiting for what?

_And why do I get the feeling that this is the calm before the storm?_

"Obnoxious distractions aside," Snape interrupted pointedly.  "Perhaps we can return to the subject at hand?"

James grinned, but noticed with disappointment that Sirius did not.  Remus, however, continued before James could tempt Snape further.  "We will have no Sixth Circle until Fawkes allows us," he said quietly.  "But that leaves use two members short…and I wouldn't know who to choose even if we _could_ form the next Inner Circle."

"Nor would the rest of us," Lily added form her seat next to the fire.  They had gathered in the library at Grimmauld Place long after midnight, cloaking themselves in darkness and silence, yet knowing that secrecy had become all but impossible.  The day before, James and Arthur had begun to set up a new headquarters for the Ministry of Magic, yet within four hours of the first group's arrival, an explosion had shaken the building.  Although there hadn't been an obvious Death Eater attack, James knew the truth.  Voldemort might have been waiting, but he wasn't silent.  He was, in fact, far from that…no matter what the papers might think.  With a sigh, James glanced down at the front page of the _Daily Prophet _sitting on the table to his right.

_August 4, 1992_

NEW MINISTRY OF MAGIC OFFICES DESTROYED 

by Keith Lindsay, Special Correspondent

Early yesterday afternoon, the acting Ministry of Magic department

heads attempted to establish a new headquarters on the outskirts of

Muggle London.  Led by Arthur Weasley, the temporary Deputy Minister

of Magic, a group of sixteen was caught in an unexpected blast that

experts think may have been a result of a Muggle terrorist attack.  Ludo

Bagman, the Minister for Magical Games and Sports, was crushed by 

falling rubble and killed immediately.  Five others were seriously injured,

and are receiving treatment at St. Mungo's.

When questioned, Minister Weasley refused to comment, apart from

saying that the Ministry would carefully investigate the attack and would

be finding yet another location for Ministry headquarters.  Information on

that location, however, was not forthcoming.

In other news, elections for a permanent Minister of Magic are scheduled

for next week.  The front runner in a surprisingly populated race is acting

Minister of Magic James Potter, who is still paralyzed from the

destruction of the Ministry of Magic.  Potter has already stated that Arthur

Weasley will remain his deputy if he is elected, which continues to

surprise political analysts due to Weasley's relative unimportance in the

past.

Running against Potter remains the team of career politicians Cornelius

Fudge and Dolores Umbridge.  Fudge, the head of the Department of

Magical Catastrophes, continues to roundly criticize Potter's policies and

insist that there is a peaceful way to end the war.

A surprising and late addition to the race is Lucius Malfoy, long a force to

be reckoned with in politics but never a holder of political office.  When

asked for the reason behind his sudden change of heart, Malfoy

explains: "I simply cannot stand by and allow our world to suffer under

the leadership of warmongering incompetents.  While I am perfectly

willing to support Mr. Fudge's policies, I fear that the oldest families are

loathe to support a Fudge in office.  It is time that a member of one of the

Wizarding world's oldest families reassumes our proper responsibilities

and does what has to be done."

Malfoy, of course, is the leading member of one of the famous Fourteen

Families, a distinction that James Potter also shares.  Malfoy, however,

has long been rumored to be a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,

which clearly separates him from ex-Auror Potter.  Although there is no

proof that Malfoy is a Death Eater, this slander may very well weaken his

chances in the coming race.  Predictably, Malfoy refused to comment.

"Thinking about Malfoy again, are you?" Sirius suddenly asked, startling James so much that he nearly dropped his tea.  James grinned sheepishly.

"That obvious, is it?"

"Only when you glare at the _Prophet _like you want it to burst into flames," Dung pointed out, a half smile creasing his scarred face.

"Am I that bad?" James asked.

"Oh, yes." His wife smiled sweetly.  "You certainly are."

"I don't think you need to worry about Malfoy, either," Sirius added, sounding surprisingly normal.  "Sounds to me like he's only going to take votes away from Fudge, anyway.  Those who believe you believe you, James.  They won't fall for a pretty boy just because he's from an old family."

"Yes, but if we know this, surely Malfoy does, too," Remus countered reasonably.  "So what does he want? What does he hope to gain?"

All eyes turned automatically to Snape, but after a long moment, the Death Eater only shrugged.

"I do not know," Snape admitted.  "Power, for certain.  But what else…I am not sure.  The Dark Lord is humoring him, though, on this matter—for now.  It is Lucius' idea.  That much, I know for certain."

Dung snorted.  "Voldemort? Humor anyone?" He shook his head.  "Unlikely."

"But not impossible." Snape scowled.  "Not always.  And Lucius Malfoy has always been an exception.  I do not know what he plans, but James is right to watch him." His black eyes narrowed.  "Watch him carefully."

James nodded.  "Six days and we'll know."

"And then what?" Lily asked. "Let us assume, for the moment, that you will win the election.  Even if you do not, though, the Order's responsibilities will not change—they will only grow more difficult to fulfill.  Remus tells us that Hogwarts is secure.  Severus tells us that Voldemort is waiting—but waiting for _what_?  And how do we stop him when he does act?  These two questions must be answered, but we've been dancing around them all night."

"Lily's right," Remus agreed.  "We cannot wait any longer.  We must strike, and do so soon." His eyes found Sirius.  "But to do so, we must first understand."

Uncharacteristically, Sirius avoided everyone's gaze, staring down at his hands instead.  After a long moment, Remus continued in a gentle voice.

"We have not asked, Sirius, because we respect your silence.  I know that you do not want to talk about what happened, but we need to know."

"Yes," Sirius said quietly.  "Yes, you do."

A chill ran down James' spine, why he did not know.  But as his friend looked up, James noticed that Sirius' blue eyes were clear.  There was none of the uncertainty that had plagued him for the past five days, none of the hesitation or the shadows.  He seemed calmer now than he had in years.

"We fought," he replied evenly, holding up a hand to forestall the question on Lily's face.  "Not as foes across a battlefield, but we fought—Voldemort and I.  He reached out to crush the wards, and I sought to stop him.  Then it became something different."

Sirius took a deep breath.  "Even now I cannot explain it.  There are not words to do so.  Yet we connected, somehow, and we fought.  It wasn't power or emotion…it was simply a contest of will.  It was almost like when we both cast the Imperius Curse in Azkaban, but the connection was stronger…deeper.  But it wasn't a battle that can have a victor, nor one that could last long.  I suspect that Voldemort fell unconscious within seconds, as I did.  It felt like eternity, but I know it was not."

"He did," Snape confirmed immediately.  "Or so Lucius told me.  The Dark Lord is loathe to speak of it."

"As well he should be." Sirius' head turned slowly until he looked James in the eye.  "And what Dumbledore tried to tell me was right.  It's not Harry who has to stop Voldemort.  It's me."

James swallowed, and could taste the silence.  After Azkaban, it had at least become clear that Sirius had an undeniable ability to resist Voldemort—yet nothing had been certain.  There had always been a chance that the first prophecy would hold true and that Harry would still have to bear that horrible burden…the burden that had fallen to Sirius, who had changed in Azkaban and had somehow altered everything.

"'Tonight marks the choice of the Dark Lord's bane'," Remus quoted softly.  "And so it is."

"Yes," Sirius said simply.

--------------

"There is a prophecy, My Lord," Julia said quietly, flames flickering from the fire to her right.  "We found it deep in what used to be the Department of Mysteries.  It was buried deep under the rubble, but we managed to bring it to you."

"Have you, now?" Voldemort asked pointedly.  He was furious over the interruption, Snape knew, and ready to torture anyone who interfered with a council between the Dark Lord and his chosen few.  Two hours had passed since Severus had left a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix's Inner Circle, yet now he was attending another secret council.  But this one was smaller—and far darker.

"Speak quickly, worm!" Bellatrix Lestrange snapped when Julia hesitated.  But Julia was a Malfoy, and not to be intimidated by any Death Eater, no matter how high ranking.

"Look to yourself, Bellatrix," Julia retorted.  "I seem to recall your school nickname being Medusa."

Bellatrix's blue eyes flashed dangerously.  "You—"

"Be silent, Bella," the Dark Lord's cold voice cut her off, then his burning eyes sought out Julia once more, and Snape saw his fury retreat slightly.  "Tell me of this prophecy," he commended.

In the far corner, Lucius smirked.

"It has no label, Master, unlike all other prophecies, which are marked with the names of those they center upon," Julia explained.  Two days before, Voldemort had given her the task of investigating the ruins of the destroyed Ministry of Magic and uncovering anything that might be of use.  Somehow, Severus was not surprised to find that Julia had uncovered results so quickly.  "The orb is only labeled 'Great and Dark Days'."

"And I assume that you left this interesting piece of archeology behind where anyone can find it?" Rodolphus Lestrange asked archly from beside his livid wife.  But Julia only favored him with a superior look.

"No.  I have it with me."

"How?" Severus asked with real curiosity.  "It was my understanding that only those whom a prophecy is meant for can handle it."

"Actually, only those who the prophecy is made for can retrieve it from the Department of Mysteries." Julia smiled coldly.  "Or those with practice in retrieving hidden items." She bowed gracefully in the Dark Lord's direction and gestured with her wand.  

Slowly, a dusty glass orb drifted towards Voldemort; it had been floating unseen at Julia's side the entire time.  Only by squinting could Snape read the label.

Oracle at Delphi to Leonidas of Sparta

(?) and (?)

For Great and Dark Days

Julia's calm voice filled the pregnant silence.

"I believe, My Lord, that it is meant for you."

--------------

"I wouldn't have dared come here if I did not know that I had to," she said quietly.  

Late afternoon had brought an invasion to Grimmauld Place—Harry had returned, dragging Hermione plus _four _Weasleys (apparently, Mrs. Weasley had forced Ron and the twins to bring their younger sister along, too), trailing chaos in their wake.  It was almost surreal to see his family's ancestral home turned into a virtual playground for six energetic children, but Sirius noted with approval that a prank war already seemed to have sparked.  _Mother_, he reflected with a triumphant smile, _would never have approved_.  And young Ginny Weasley seemed to be holding her own—Sirius found himself liking her already.

Still, though, now was not a time to laugh, despite the happy commotion raging downstairs.  He sighed.  "I know."

Julia sat on his bed with her feet curled up underneath her and her hands folded in her lap.  For all the world, she looked perfectly calm and at home, but Sirius recognized the tense lines around her eyes and the weariness in her expression.  She was worried, more so than he'd seen her in years.  Julia lived a busy life, and was accustomed to pressure—yet the growing fear in her eyes was real.

"The Dark Lord ordered me to search the Ministry's ruins, Sirius," she said quietly, meeting his eyes with what Sirius could tell was a massive effort in control.  "He judged that my expertise would be useful in such an endeavor, and wanted to see what I might find."

"But we already searched the ruins," he objected.  

She nodded.  "And so you did.  But not closely enough."  

His heart started pounding as Julia swallowed, and then continued.  

"I found a prophecy, Sirius." Her gray eyes bored into his.  "It's ancient, almost twenty-five hundred years old, which is probably why the Aurors overlooked it.  But the moment I saw it, I knew."

"Knew what?" For some reason, he was afraid to ask.

"I knew that it was important.  I would not have brought it to him if I had been alone, but Jugson was my shadow."  Julia took a deep breath.  "The prophecy was spoken in 480 B.C.E. by the Oracle at Delphi to King Leonidas of Sparta, yet it was unmarked.  The prophecy does not say for _whom _it was made, only the phrase 'For Great and Dark Days'."

Sirius' heart sank.  "So Voldemort has the prophecy."

"Yes.  But I cast a memory-enhancing charm on myself before I gave it to him, so I remember," she replied. "Severus was there as well, but he had no warning and may not recall every word."

"He hasn't told us this, yet."

"No, he's still on Azkaban," Julia told him.  "This was the first chance I had to leave, but I had to tell you, Sirius.  You need to know."

The intensity in her eyes was jarring.  "Why me?"

"Other than the fact that I trust you?" she asked, but the wan smile did little to warm Julia's pale face.  However, she did reach out to take his hand.  "Because I believe that you are one of the people mentioned in the prophecy." Julia sucked in a ragged breath.  "And so does Voldemort."

He felt cold, and wished that he felt surprised instead.  "I'd better hear it, then."

"Yes."

Julia closed her eyes, and Sirius saw the lines on her face fade as she thought back.  This was Julia's specialty: discovery and dissection.  When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but Sirius heard a strange power behind her words.

_"They will come—_

_Heroes will be needed and they will come._

_They will come—_

_Brothers though no blood lies between them._

_They will come—_

_With promises made to break or stand._

_They will come—_

_Alone against the storm, standing together at the dark end.___

_They will come—_

_Battered and bleeding, yet refusing to bend._

_They will come—_

_Unbroken.__  Unbowed.  Unyielding._

_Remember._

_They will come."_

A chill ran down Sirius' spine as Julia opened her eyes, staring at him.  He tried to keep his face unreadable, but she saw right through it—just as she always did.  Julia squeezed his hand once, but released him as Sirius rose to pace.  Still, though, he felt her eyes upon him, watching perceptively while he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his bedroom floor.  Julia, knowing him, let him think without interruption.  For the moment, Sirius needed silence…but he craved companionship.  He felt strangely calm, oddly vindicated.  Even though he hadn't expected the prophecy to reveal so much, it told him the truth.  Fate had finally been twisted; everything had changed.  Another man might not have felt relieved, but Sirius did.  _It worked!_ he thought triumphantly—then a sudden chill made him shiver.  _But…_ There was something more than just fate at work.  _I never expected to drag them into this._  

Even so, it was nice to hear it from another source.  And he had not failed to notice what the prophecy did _not _say.  Sirius took a deep breath.

"Well," he said quietly.  "Now we know."

"Yes." Julia bit her lip briefly; for a woman who never showed weakness, the simple action spoke legions.  "And so does he."

Sill pacing, Sirius shrugged.  "That's nothing new.  He has known, as I have, since Harry's birthday."

"But now the knowledge is concrete," she pointed out.  "Now it is fact, unless the prophecy refers to some other darkness, which I doubt.  He was able to touch it, to listen…and that prophecy changes everything."

"Because we all know who _they _are," Sirius nodded, halting to study her face.  "I know, even if the end will be different.  But it's almost—almost nice to know for sure."

This time, her smile was real.  Julia chuckled lightly.  "That's because you're crazy."

"Very true." He grinned in response.  "And I also like to meet things head on."

"I would never have guessed that aspect of your personality existed," she deadpanned.

"Oh, really?" In one quick motion, he jumped onto the bed and tackled her.  The springs screeched in protest as they bounced, and the pair wrestled for a moment, with Sirius trying to tickle Julia and Julia proving remarkably elusive.  Finally, he managed to wrap his arms around her from behind, but Sirius didn't bother trying to tickle her when Julia rested her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.  There were not enough moments like this one.

But even perfection could not last.

"We need to tell them," she pointed out quietly.

His nose full of the smell of her hair, Sirius nodded.  "Would you like me to, or do you want to be there?"

"You trust them," Julia replied without hesitation.  "So I do, too.  I'll stay, if you want me to."

"I always want you to stay," he murmured with a slight smile.

"Of course you do, silly," she retorted.  "Don't change the subject." But he heard the laughter in her voice.

"I'm not," he objected innocently.  Julia snorted, though, making him relent.  Slightly.  "For this, too," Sirius clarified.  "I think it's important."

She twisted around to look at him, but did not leave his arms.  "Why is that?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "But you're a part of this…and besides, I'll never remember the whole prophecy by myself."

"I see how it is," Julia laughed.  "You're using me for my memory."

"You bet I am."

---------------

It took over a day to assemble the Marauders, including long hours that they simply did not have to spare.  But by August 8th, Peter was back in the country, and they met once more at Hogwarts.  Walking through the deserted corridors at night reminded Sirius of their pranking days, but he hadn't had Julia at his side back then.  He smiled slightly as they reached the headmaster's office, but waited patiently enough for the spiral staircase to deliver them at their destination. 

Remus and Peter were waiting, but both were surprised to see Julia.  Snape, it seemed, was still at Azkaban, working on some bizarre potion or another for the Dark Lord.  While that fact came as a surprise to no one—apparently, such things happened to Hogwarts' Potions Master quite often during the holidays—it meant that Remus had no clue why Sirius had asked his best friends to come together, and even less idea why he had brought Julia along.  Still, the headmaster greeted them both with a smile, and promised that James would not be long.  Peter, too, grinned, but Sirius could read the apprehension behind his smile.  He'd come a long way from the frightened little boy who Sirius had met on the Hogwarts Express, but sometimes his nerves betrayed themselves.

James was late.  Over twenty minutes after he'd promised to arrive, the temporary Minister of Magic wheeled himself into Remus' office wearing an apologetic smile.  "Sorry that I'm late," he said immediately.  "I got caught up in a fire call with Fudge."

"Ick," Peter's face twisted up in an expression of distaste.  "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."  James shuddered.  "I'd have doused the fire, but I couldn't think up a plausible enough excuse to get rid of him.

"I suppose hating him doesn't count?" Sirius asked, earning himself a sour look from Remus, who turned to James.

"In which case you are clearly forgiven," the headmaster said.  The brown-haired Marauder managed to say the words with a straight face, but the grin that blossomed afterwards ruined the effect.  "For the moment."

They all laughed appreciatively, after which James faced Julia.  "It's good to see you again, Julia," he said with a genuine smile.  "You're looking well."

"Thank you." James' cocky youth had matured into semi-suave charm, and though Sirius was fairly positive that Julia was immune to it, she still smiled.  A mischievous glint entered her eyes, then, and the smile flared into a grin.  "I wish that I could say the same think about you, but you look horrible."

"Politics," James retorted, but Sirius noticed that his friend did look exhausted, and made a mental note to ask about it later.  Still, everyone was laughing, so he joined in.  After the amusement faded, he nodded in return to Julia's questioning look.

"I guess you're all wondering why I'm here," she said quietly.  "But it's really my fault that everyone else is…"

---------------


	15. Chapter 15: Ghosts of Tomorrow

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Fifteen: Ghosts of Tomorrow

Midnight had long since been one of those hours when things simply _happened_.  Be those things good or bad, dark or light, events transpired at the time known to superstitious Muggles as the Witching Hour.  To Wizarding folk, midnight was often an important time for magical reasons, but oftentimes matters were far simpler than that.  Still, things _happened_ at midnight, and August 8th was no exception.  

The crash startled James and Lily awake, and both immediately reached for their respective wands, which rested on opposite bedside tables.  However, unlike the past, when James would have leapt out of bed to investigate, Lily jumped up, threw on a robe, and dashed out the door.  It took James a moment longer and a good bit more magic to accomplish the same thing, but after a minute he was also clad in a robe, wearing his glasses and upright in his enhanced wheelchair.  He rolled out of their bedroom as fast as he could manage.

James met Harry in the hallway, and his son looked as disheveled as his father felt.  His black hair was standing straight up, his glasses were askew, and his feet were bare—but Harry held his wand in his hand, and his green eyes were attentively clear.  "What's going on, Dad?"

"I don't know." James frowned, but instinct led him down the hall towards Sirius' room.  Harry followed, and as they came around the corner, James found Lily standing in his best friend's doorway. 

"—just knocked candelabra over, Lily," Sirius was saying casually.  "Nothing important.  I'm sorry to have startled you."

James' eyes instinctively traveled from his friend's back to the shattered antique candle fixture.  Its pieces were scattered all over the carpet to the right of Sirius' bed and had made a considerable mess that his friend hadn't seemed to have noticed.  The fixture must have hit the floor with considerable force because it had broken rather permanently.  Even the candles had rattled free of their holders, and several of them had broken as well, splattering old wax all over the floor.  But while he stared at the destroyed candelabra, something in James' mind clicked.  A simple _Reparo_ Charm would have fixed the candelabra in seconds, yet Sirius' wand still lay on his bedside table, and no spell had been cast.  James could have put that oversight down to sheer grogginess, however, if it had not been for the way Sirius was staring out the window with his back to the door.

Lily, too, seemed to sense that something was wrong.  "Don't worry about it," she replied, then hesitated.  "Would you like me to fix the candelabra?"

"Nah, don't bother.  I never liked it, anyway," Sirius replied lightly, but his relaxed tone of voice set off alarms in James' head.

He rolled his wheelchair forwards quietly, mentally cursing his slow method of transportation for the millionth time.  When he wasn't looking, the left wheel managed to bump into the door, and James had to force a snarl back.  But there were more important things to worry about than his infernal wheelchair, so James spoke up, careful to keep his voice nonchalant.

"Something interesting outside, Padfoot?" he asked.

"The stars are bright tonight," Sirius replied after a moment, but the smile he would normally have smiled was absent from his voice.  James hesitated, blinking, then decided to pretend as if it had been there anyway.

"You're sounding like a centaur, mate."

Sirius snorted.  "Wish I felt like one."

"Why's that?"

"No reason."  His friend shrugged, still leaning against the wall.  "Just a thought."

Something in his voice frightened James, something he'd thought was gone.  Suddenly, he was reminded of what Remus had told him six months ago, shortly after Sirius had miraculously escaped from Azkaban and made his way to Hogwarts, battered and bleeding—and hurt.  Remus had called him haunted, had said that his eyes held horrors that none of his friends could ever begin to understand. Yet they had stopped watching Sirius so carefully because he'd _seemed _so normal.  Older, yes, and with far too many ghosts in his past, but he had still been Sirius.  Those ghosts had not seemed to stalk his waking steps—until now.  His blue eyes were shadowed, his face was tight, and James heard old memories weighing his voice down.

"You didn't tell me that you still had nightmares, Sirius," he said as the missing pieces fell into place. 

A long heartbeat passed before his friend replied, "It never came up."

"Why not?" James asked quietly.  To his right, Lily slid back, leaving the room and closing the door.  She understood, James knew, just like she always did.  

"Not important, really." Sirius shrugged, but James' eyes narrowed as he wheeled himself forward a few extra feet.

"I think it is."

Finally, his friend turned to look at him.  The bones in his pale face seemed very sharp in the shadows; the moon was small that night, and the stars were not bright enough to light the room beyond a twinkle in the darkness.  Yet they needed no more light.  Not like this.

"You think wrong, James," Sirius said, his blue eyes cold.  "This isn't anything new, anything that I haven't dealt with before."

"I never said it was." But the finality in Sirius' voice threw him off balance.  "Remus told me that he thought your nightmares had stopped."

His friend laughed bitterly.  "I just got better at hiding them."

"Why?" Something sharp twisted and stabbed into James' heart, and he knew that the pain showed on his face.  He didn't want to feel betrayed, but he did—they were best friends, brothers, and they trusted each other in everything.  Four boys had once made a pact: _No Secrets_.  No secrets, no walls.  No breeches of trust.

"Because it's not something you can fix, James," Sirius replied, the bitterness fading abruptly as his shoulders slumped.  "Ten years _changed _me, and Voldemort left a stain on my soul that I don't think even friends can erase."

"We can try."

"Yes, you can," Sirius admitted.  "Maybe I'm just too cowardly to take advantage of that, or maybe I've changed.  It isn't that I don't trust you, or Remus, or Peter—it's more that I don't trust myself.  I can't deny that I have nightmares, or that those ten years still bother me…but it usually isn't this bad."  A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.  "Really."

The honesty in his voice made James swallow, and he immediately felt guilty for feeling betrayed.  Oath or no oath, boyish promises had to be tempered by time—and Sirius hadn't lied to them.  Even now, he never had.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  I know why you had to ask." Sirius' face still was dark, but the understanding in his eyes was real.  He seemed more relaxed now than when James had come in, and the slight smile on his face did not fade.  "And I really don't have nightmares as often as I used to."

"Then why tonight?" He didn't want to pry, but James had to.  Behind the slight smile, he saw pain, and he needed to understand its cause.  He needed to help.

Yet the answer was simpler than he had expected.  "The prophecy."

James blinked.  "The prophecy? Why?"

"Because it made me think." Sirius' gaze grew distant; it seemed as if he could see right through James.  "It made me remember."

Two days had passed since Julia told the Marauders about the prophecy she had found in the ruins of the Ministry of Magic, surprising the four of them on some levels more than others.  They had all come to realize that Sirius had a role to play in Voldemort's downfall, and an unspoken agreement between James, Remus, and  Peter had decided the inevitable—they would not let him stand alone.  But what they had not expected was for a twenty-five century old prophecy to intervene.  He was not meant to stand alone—not while they lived.

"I see it in your eyes," Sirius continued abruptly.  "You're thinking what I am, that the prophecy changes everything…and that the three of you won't let me face the end alone."

"We wouldn't have anyway," James responded evenly.  "Prophecy or no prophecy."

"I thank you for that," Sirius said quietly, too quietly.  Unexpectedly, his face tightened into a mask.  "But you might have to."

"What?"

"Don't you see it? Every other prophecy speaks of _one _alone at the end.  There's no one else—just one." His eyes hardened into crystal ice.  "That means the three of you won't be there at the end, but I'll be _damned _if I'm letting my friends die."

Sirius met James' eyes, and all traces of the bitter ghosts that haunted him were gone.  His voice was grim, yet held something else…something greater.

"So when that end comes, James, I will face it alone." His strongly boned face was almost serene.  "And when I finish this, I will finish it alone."

--------------

"Try it again."

She took a deep breath and leveled her wand out.  _"Imperio!"_

Immediately, her victim's body jerked out of his slump in the comfortable armchair, his back rigidly straight.  He gave every impression of great attentiveness, but his green eyes were slightly glazed over, just slightly—only enough to see if one knew to look.  To the unenlightened, he would have seemed perfectly normal.

"Did it work?" the other asked curiously.  

"I'm not sure," she replied, pointing her wand again at the man in the chair.  "Let's find out.  Mess up your hair."

A traitorous giggle escaped Lily as one finely-boned hand reached up to jumble the immaculate gray hair.  Her companions hooted in laughter, watching the always suave and well-groomed Nicholas Flamel destroy his always perfect hair; although they loved him dearly, Flamel _was _a bit of a dandy.  Perhaps the attitude was simply a product of the era in which he had been born, and they did not hold it against him—but it was funny to watch him tangle his own hair.  After the laughter had died down, she turned to Molly Weasley.  

"Okay.  Your turn."

Molly took a deep breath and pointed her wand at Flamel.  _"Imperexpis!"_

A moment ticked by while Lily tried not to hold her breath.  _If this doesn't work…_Months, almost years, of research had led to this moment, and if they had made even one small mistake, everything could go horribly wrong.  Finally, Molly nodded.  "It works.  I can see the spell—it's almost as if he's glowing."

"I can't see anything," Jack Pieters said, making Lily sigh.

"No.  Unfortunately, it's what we thought," she replied.  "Only the caster can see the results.  Still, it's something, and a lot better than trying to use _Reperimperium_."

"Oh, it's a lot of something!" Jack said quickly.  "It's definitely much more than we've ever managed before."

Lily waved off his apology.  "Yeah, but more would be nice." Then she shrugged and smiled.  "Regardless, we _have_ done it.  Go ahead, Jack."

Pieters lifted his wand, nodding.  "_Econtra Imperi_."

The effect was immediate.  Instead of jerking in his chair, Flamel slumped down as dead, losing his attentive posture instantly.  After a long moment, he shook his head and blinked like a man who had just woken up from a deep sleep.  But his confusion quickly turned into a satisfied smile.  He chuckled.

"What did I miss?"

Unable to help themselves, Lily and Molly began to giggle.  Lily hated to do so, because it made them sound like little schoolgirls, but her laughter only came harder when Pieters, Jason Montague, Auriga Sinistra, and Perenelle Flamel joined in.  Even their newest member, Ted Tonks, started chuckling after a moment, making Flamel's amusement quickly become befuddlement.  

"What?" he repeated.

Snickering, Lily managed to reply, "Find a mirror, Nicholas."

"Oh," he said slowly, his mouth falling open like a donut.  Then shocked outraged colored his face.  "You did not."

"Oh, they certainly did," Sinistra replied gleefully.  "But it's not that bad.  Really."

"You are a horrible liar, Auriga," Flamel said archly, but Lily saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  

"Oh, stop being such a sourpuss!"  She snorted.  "It certainly _is _that bad, but it's not like you can't replace that toupee in half a second."

The others started hooting in laughter again as Flamel tried to object—but he was having a hard time containing his own mirth long enough to form a coherent argument.  "I'll have you know that this is my original hair," he said with an old-fashioned sniff.  "Genuine Nicholas Flamel, Vintage 1326."  His face became an exaggerated attempt at self control.  "Current Era, of course. I'm not _that _old."

Paroxysms of laughter shook the room so hard that Lily was almost afraid that some of the old books would come tumbling off of the shelves.  But at least she didn't have to worry about being heard—the Unicorn Group's headquarters was located in the Middle of a Muggle neighborhood, and their teenaged neighbors were far louder than any group of grown witches and wizards could ever hope to be.  In fact, Lily had been forced to cast Silencing Charms before this meeting to keep the Muggle rap music _out_.  She snorted at the thought.  She was a Muggleborn witch, herself, but there were some things that she would never understand.  Lily shuddered.  _Especially stupid teenaged Muggles and what they call "music."_

No one was going to hear them, and if they did, who would care? Even a group that included Nicholas Flamel's odd but lively sense of humor _sounded _completely harmless—Lily had talked to a few of her 'neighbors' and found out that the Muggles thought her friends came over to play poker.  Of course, telling Nicholas that made the famous alchemist insist that they actually play the game… Right up until Molly Weasley had very adroitly won a hundred galleons off of the risk-taking old Flamel during their very first game.  That had quieted most of Nicholas' demands to play poker, but one never knew when he would bring the subject up again.  He was as unpredictable as he was brilliant, and that said a great deal.

Nicholas Flamel had been a surprise addition to the Unicorn Group just a month before.  Shortly after Dumbledore's funeral (which still hurt to think about, no matter how much time had passed), he had approached Lily with far more knowledge than she was comfortable with an outsider having.  Much to her surprise, Flamel told her that Dumbledore had mentioned nothing more than the fact that he was going to leave Lily the Philosopher's Stone—but Nicholas had guessed the rest.  He said that he knew her reputation, and was eager to see what she might accomplish with his creation.  And he wanted to help—with everything.  Lily had been shocked to hear it, but Dumbledore's death had opened Flamel's eyes.  Five minutes of conversation had ended his self-imposed exile, and had gained the Unicorn Group two new members.

Nicholas' wife, Perenelle, laughed at him as he crossed the room to stand in front of a large mirror, frantically righting his hair.  "You certainly _look _that old, my dear."

"I do not!" he objected outrageously.  

"And it is a toupee."  Perenelle grinned conspiratorially at the others.  "He's been balder than a brass statue since 1477."

They all laughed again, but as always with the Unicorn Group, there still was work to be done.  Lily cleared her throat.  "Well, then. What's next?"

Sinistra, who had been with Lily from the very beginning of the Unicorn Group, answered immediately.  "We've almost completed our original list of projects.  All that's really left is Operation Clean Air."

An uneasy silence reigned until Ted finally echoed, "Clean Air?"

"Killing Dementors," Jack clarified grimly. "It's the one thing we have never been able to figure out."

"Can they be killed?" Ted asked curiously.

"Good question."  Molly groaned.  "We haven't figured that out yet, either."

"Oh."

"But there has to be a way," Lily said quietly.  "Anything that can be created can be destroyed."

"Can magic even create Dementors?" Montague asked.  He, too, was one of the older members of the Unicorn Group, having joined to replace Minerva McGonagall after her death in January of 1987.  Jason, however, did not have the confidence or talent of Lily's old Transfiguration professor.  In fact, it had been a long while since they'd had a genuine transfiguration expert in the Group, which was one of the main reasons for the sudden inclusion of Ted Tonks.  Lily only vaguely remembered Ted from their Hogwarts days, but he had a brilliant reputation in the field.  Even though the Tonks' had steadfastly stayed neutral in the war, Ted had continued to publish research articles.  Those articles had been what drew Lily's attention to him, and so far the risk she had taken by bringing such a new Order member into the Unicorn Group had been justified.  This was the first meeting Ted had attended (he'd only joined the Order of the Phoenix two days before), but Lily was sure that his differing viewpoint would prove useful—and Ted did not disappoint.

"I would think that destroying Dementors has to focus on balancing out their evil. By using its opposite," he mused, biting his lip in concentration.  "Much like transfiguring a living being into an inanimate object, but more permanent.  We could use the Opposite Principle to generate properties that Dementors don't have.  Like goodness."

Perenelle Flamel caught on immediately, nodding.  "Warmth.  Purity.  Trust."

"Exactly!" Ted grinned momentarily, then returned to biting his lip.  "Maybe the reason why no one has been able to kill them is because Dementors aren't alive.  So maybe we don't need to destroy them at all."

"We just need to change them," Lily breathed.  "Transfigure them."

"But how?" Molly asked thoughtfully.  "Magic doesn't work on Dementors."

"Yes it does," Montague responded.  "The Patronus Charm works."

"But that's it," Sinistra pointed out.  "Nothing else works." 

"No, Jason is right," Lily said.  "If one charm works, something else will.  We just have to figure out what."   She shrugged.  "We've been studying this for years, but we've never based our work in transfiguration.  It's as good a starting point as any, though, so let's try it."

--------------

"Dad, look!" Harry suddenly shouted, startling James so badly that he almost dropped his tea.  Still, while his legs might have failed him, his reflexes had not, and years of Auror training and combat made his left hand shoot out to steady the wayward cup as his twelve-year-old burst into the parlor.  "I got a letter from Lee!  And a present!"

Laughing, James put the tea down on a nearby table before he could drop it again.  "Well, are you going to open the letter, or just admire it?"

His son blushed bright red, but immediately tore the envelope open.  Harry's green eyes speed over the page, but James was surprised to see his smile collapse right away.  After a moment, Harry looked up.

"He can't come back to Hogwarts," he said emptily.  "His Mum didn't even want to let him owl us, so Lee snuck out to do it."

"I'm sorry, Harry," James said, wishing that the words didn't sound so trite.  "I wish there was something I could do."

"Couldn't you talk to her?" Harry asked hopefully.  "Make her see that hiding won't help? I mean, if Voldemort wanted to kill them, there wouldn't be anywhere safe, magic or Muggle, and—"

"Your mum already tried," James cut his son off gently.  "It didn't help.  Mrs. Jordan is determined to get away from our world.  Permanently."

Harry's face fell again.  "It's not fair."

"No, it isn't," he agreed.  "None of this is.  But at least he'll be safe, Harry, and hopefully Lee won't have to miss more than a year of school."

"Do you think that the war will be over by then?"

"I don't know."  James sighed quietly.  "I hope so, and we'll certainly try." And _maybe I'm just an optimist, but you don't tell your son that this war might consume his life, too._

"Can I do anything?" Harry asked unexpectedly.  "I mean, if he still thinks it might be me, I could help."

James tried to smile past the heavy lump in his throat.  On one hand, he was so grateful that Harry didn't have to bear that awful fate, but on the other…Sirius didn't deserve it, either.  "I think that Voldemort is well and truly convinced that it isn't you, Harry." Sirius' words from early that morning came immediately to mind, and James swallowed.  "He knows who his enemy is, now."

"Oh."

Silence reigned for a long moment, then James spoke up, hoping to change the subject before things got any darker.  "So, what did Lee give you, anyway?"

"Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls," Harry replied, brightening a little.

"Oh, no," his father groaned, remembering the trouble _he'd _caused using nothing more than a good set of Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls in his youth.  "There's a reason why your mum and I never let you have those, you realize."

"Yup." Harry grinned smugly.  "I know."

The happy look on his son's face made it hard for James to check his temptation to sigh in relief.  That, however, was an effort he was more than willing to make—and it reminded him of how thankful he was for Harry's youth.  Despite the fact that his son sometimes acted older than his twelve years, at heart Harry was a child.  He still had the innocence that his father had lost years before, and James had made it his self-appointed task to ensure that no one robbed Harry of that innocence.  He would grow out of it in his own time, war or not…and James was glad that he could still smile and laugh, could still be distracted by something happier than the darkness that faced them all.

James' feelings of relief, however, did not mean he was untouched by Lee's plight.  It was wrong, and Miranda Jordan should have known better, even though she was a Muggle.  She'd been married to Ernie for over seventeen years, and though Lee was their only child, Miranda had become fully integrated into the magical world.  Yet even the wife of an Auror could respond to his death with paranoia…and she was not alone in her fears.  Miranda Jordan was only one amongst many who felt that the war could not be won, and that the only safe thing to do was hide.  James let out a quiet sigh as he watched Harry experiment with his new set of Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls.  Hiding from Voldemort wouldn't help anyone, and most of the hiders should have realized that…but they were afraid.

In truth, he was too, but his job wasn't to show fear.  It was to fight it.

--------------

_August 8, 1992_

POTTER WINS BY A LANDSLIDE 

by Eric Dummingston, Special Correspondent

_RESULTS IN!_

James Potter:                87%

Lucius Malfoy:               8%

Cornelius Fudge:            5%

Early this morning and into late afternoon, ballots were cast for

Wizarding Britain's new Minister of Magic.  Although in past years the

candidates all gathered at the Ministry of Magic during the voting

process, security concerns did not allow the traditional face-off to take

place.  Votes were gathered by owl and counted by Ministry of Magic

employees, but higher than usual security was evidenced by the

presence of countless Aurors, including several dozen from the Aurors'

mysterious training facility that some claim is called "Avalon."

After the count was verified, the new Minister of Magic was escorted to

the speaker's platform by his long time friend, the famous Auror Sirius

Black.  Potter, however, seemed unconcerned for his own safety, despite

the fact that his landslide victory is sure to anger He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named.

Political analysts credit Potter's amazing victory to a split between the

supporters of Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge, many of whom likely

abstained from voting because they could not decide between the

longtime supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the career

politician who seeks to end the war at any cost.  In contrast to both

Fudge and Malfoy, Potter gave a short but stirring speech after he

formally accepted the office, saying:

"I am not the kind of man who makes promises that I do not intend to

keep, but I will promise you this: We will not surrender.  Nor will we forget

what we have lost.  But we will not stop because the road is hard.  And

we will not forget the sacrifices that others have made—we will honor

them.  And we will fight.

"We will fight until the bitter end, no matter what that end may be.  But

we will not battle for a losing cause.  We will fight because we must, else

see our world vanish into darkness.  And we will win because on our side

is right, and as long as light lives in one heart, darkness can never reign."

Optimistic words, true, but Potter's speech seemed to kindle its own light

in the hearts of many.   His election has been heralded as a sign that He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has not gained supreme power over the

Wizarding World, and that hope is not yet lost.  Potter has repeatedly

been called the heir apparent of the late Albus Dumbledore (1841-1992),

former Minister of Magic and one of the greatest wizards of all time.  It

remains to be seen if Potter can match Dumbledore's achievements in

his paralyzed state, but the new Minister's wheelchair-bound status

seemed to bother very few voters.

Famous Potions Master Thomas Binns responded to this concern by 

saying: "What's in a wizard's soul has nothing to do with his legs.  Potter 

could have seven or eight of them as far as I care; he's still the best man 

for the job."

So there you have it.  May the Dark Lord be warned: the Wizarding 

World will not lie down without a fight.  87% of the popular vote proved 

that Potter is indeed the wizard for the job, and if anyone can fill Albus 

Dumbledore's legendary shoes, he can.

--------------

"What rubbish!"

Julia rolled her eyes.  "Oh, give it a rest, Lucius. You knew that you were going to lose."

"Of course I did." Her handsome brother snorted with aristocratic disdain.  "But their foolish optimism sickens me.  Labeling a _Potter _as their best and only hope? The entire family has been degenerate Muggle-lovers for generations.  Their bloodline is polluted and their power is weakened.  The fools would have done better to choose Black, as misguided as he is.  He, at least, has power."

"And why do you say that?" Julia asked, straightening despite her best efforts not to do so.  

She sat in a high backed chair at Malfoy Manner, quite at ease in her brother's study, which was a feeling that most Death Eaters would not share.  But the ornate surroundings were that of her childhood home, and she had nothing to fear in this place—even her brother.  Perhaps especially Lucius, for all that he noticed her reaction.

"Curious, aren't you, little sister?" he asked with a mocking smile.  Lucius missed little, if anything, despite his arrogant nature.  Julia could never underestimate her brother's intelligence.

Or his ruthlessness.

"Don't play games with me, Lucius," she replied coldly. "What are you talking about?"

He half-smiled.  "You know about Azkaban, Julia.  And you were there for the attack on Grimmauld Place.  Surely he told you what happened."

"He doesn't trust me that much," Julia snorted.  Lying was deeply imbedded in the Malfoy genes, but Lucius looked at her inquisitively.  

"Do you love him?"

"I did," she answered without hesitation.  "But we have both changed too much."

"That is good," her brother replied quietly, sounding far more relieved than she would have expected.  As ruthless as he could be, Lucius was loyal to his family.  All Malfoys were, Julia knew; loyalty to the family came above all else, even, deep down, before the Dark Lord.  Only Lucius' own ambition might come before his family, but Julia did not forget that ambition for a moment.  Lucius would remain loyal to his family so long as that family supported him.

"He will have you kill him soon," Lucius said suddenly.

Julia started.  "Sirius?"

"Yes." His icy gray eyes met hers evenly.  "Sirius Black has become a threat, sister.  More so than Potter.  Therefore, he must die."

"I can't do that."

"What?" Even Lucius' trademark drawl vanished, and he stared at her through wide eyes.  "Julia, I don't think that you understand—"

"No, it's you who does not understand," she replied calmly.  "It is not a matter of conscience or weakness of the heart.  This is a matter of _power_.  I already told you that he does not trust me enough.  I could not kill Sirius in battle.  Only in his sleep would I stand a chance to kill him, but he is not such a fool, no matter what you think of him."

Lucius glared. "The Dark Lord does not countenance failure."

"Nor does he countenance stupidity." She snorted.  "If our Lord is threatened by Sirius Black, what chance do _I_ have?"

"I do not wish to see the consequences of you telling him that," her brother drawled.

"Nor do I," Julia admitted.  "But that doesn't change the truth."

--------------

"How _dare _you?" Droma demanded furiously.

"I—"

"Don't you even _try _it, Sirius," she snarled.  "I was there.  I saw her, and I know that you knew!"

"Andromeda," he began slowly, trying to keep his voice level, but disliking the way she towered over him.  Did she _always_ have to do that?  "This isn't what it looks like."

"Oh, isn't it?" his cousin demanded.  She'd always had more than her share of the Black family temper, and being back at Grimmauld Place seemed to have lit a fire inside her.  The evening had started out as a simple invitation to dinner, but that had quickly become something far nastier and far more typical of the Black family.

Sirius sighed.  "My intention has never been to lie to you," he replied.  "But I did not feel that it was my place to tell you."

"Not your place?  I'm her mother!"

He couldn't argue with that—fortunately, he didn't _need _to.  Someone else did it for him.  Yet again, Ted Tonks drew his wife's angry attention away from her cousin.

"She is your daughter, love, and she knows you well," Ted said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Droma's blue eyes flashed.  

"Nymphadora did not tell you because she knew how you would react.  She knew that you would be angry, that you would try to stop her."

"You—" Andromeda sat down hard, her face suddenly pale.  She stared at her husband.  "You knew."

Ted nodded sadly.  "I knew."

"Why?"

Ted reached across the table and took her hands in his own as Sirius shifted uncomfortably.  James, Lily, and Harry had gone out to celebrate James' victory, leaving Sirius to share dinner with Droma and Ted in private.  Now, though, he felt as if he did not belong, and wished that he could have said something before now.  But Sirius' instincts had said the same thing that Ted's had, and they had been right.  Droma hadn't been ready then any more than she was now.

"Because it was Nymphadora's choice," Ted said gently.  "Not ours."  He smiled.  "And she was right to make it.  She has the courage to do what we have been afraid to even face. And I'm proud of her."

Droma blinked, swallowing.  But she was a Black, and Sirius had always known that there were good traits passed down along with the bad.  She had courage, even if she had forgotten it.

After a long moment, Droma turned to face her cousin.  He met the eyes that were so like his own, and saw the reluctant smile begin to form.

"I guess you were right, Sirius," she said quietly.  "Fourteen years ago. Some things just have to be done.

---------------


	16. Chapter 16: Clouds on the Horizon

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Sixteen: Clouds on the Horizon

The last few days had left James Potter feeling anything but mischievous and also rather unfortunately un-romantic.  He was, to put it simply, overworked and underpaid, despite the fact that the job he'd never really wanted was his now in name as well as fact.  James had campaigned honestly and tirelessly to become Minister of Magic, not because he _wanted _the task, but because he knew that he had to do it.  

More to the point, his useless lower body kept him out of the other profession that he would have chosen (James would never quite claim to _love _the Aurors; that was a sentiment that he reserved for the blissful season and a half of professional Quidditch he had played), and he had to do _something_ useful.  So he was left with a very lonely job that no one in their right mind would have asked for, not envying Albus Dumbledore one iota.  How the old man had made being Minister of Magic look so damned easy, James would never know, but he was certain that he'd never be able to do the same.  _Not in this lifetime, anyway._

James sighed heavily and tore his mind away from such dismal thoughts.  At least he had good friends to help him, friends he could trust.  While he was perfectly confident in his own ability to make decisions, the Old Prophecy had made one thing extraordinarily clear: the fate of the Wizarding World did not rest in his hands alone.  Minister of Magic or not, three others would influence events as much, if not more, than he.  James was just fortunate enough that those three men were the best friends he had ever had.

"How was day one on the job?" Peter asked quietly.  It was the evening of the tenth of August, and the Marauders had met in Peter's flat to share a very simple dinner.  Muggle take out, however, never tasted so good as when it was shared with friends, even when the food was gone and the business had started. 

"Oh, about as wonderful as every day that I unofficially had the job," James replied.  "Except worse."

"How so?" Remus asked.

"More pressure, I guess," he shrugged, wishing that his shoulders did not feel so heavy when he did so.  "I feel like I'm staring across a massive and deadly chessboard at Voldemort and he's twelve moves ahead of me already."

His response made Sirius snort.  "Gryffindor versus Slytherin," he mused.  "This is starting to sound familiar.  Why does history have that damn habit of repeating itself?"

"At least Gryffindor won in the end," Peter supplied. 

"Gryffindor _died_ in the end, Pete."  James replied irritably, trying not to groan.  "Let's do try and avoid that this time." 

Peter reddened slightly.  "Sorry.  I forgot about that."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry." James sighed again.  "I'm just tired.  I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"If you can't snap at me, who canyou snap at?" Peter said with a smile.

"Sirius," both James and Remus replied at the same time, making the long-haired Marauder object.

"Hey! What'd I do to deserve that?"

"You exist, Padfoot," Remus said dryly.  "And that's punishment enough for the rest of us."

"Exactly!" Despite himself, James smiled.  Somehow, his friends could always pry him out of even the darkest of moods.  "I blame you for existing."

Turning to Peter, Sirius groaned theatrically.  "Do you feel as loved as I do?"

"Oh, definitely," the other snickered.  "Because it is your fault.  All of it."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail replied cheerfully.  

"I hate you all."

"Sure you do," Remus snickered.  "Now, back to the subject at hand: keeping James from dying like his illustrious ancestors."

"Hey, they didn't _all _die," James objected.

"Of course they did, Prongs.  Why else would they be your ancestors?" Peter pointed out.

"Shut up.  All of you.  Just shut up."  

"Not so funny when it's aimed at you, eh, Jimmy?" Sirius retorted.

James rolled his eyes.  "Shut up."

"Oh, _that's _original," Remus grinned.

"As if you're any help," James shot back, making the others laugh again.  

"Ahem?" Peter tried to say.  "Maybe we should—oof!"

Peter yelped at the same time as his puppy yipped; Joe, no longer so small of a puppy at almost a year old, had fallen asleep on top of Sirius' feet.  That, in turn, foiled Sirius' attempt to kick Peter, because Sirius had somehow managed to miss the fact that there was a dog lying on his left foot.  Hardly disgruntled, the puppy jumped to his feet and howled at Sirius, who only grinned and howled back.

"Sounds a lot more convincing when you're in Animagus form, Padfoot," James had to point out.

"I'll change now, if you like," his best friend replied with a grin.

Remus groaned.  "If you do, we'll never discuss anything important."

"Were we even going to?" Sirius asked.

"I was trying to say that we ought to before you kicked me," Peter replied.  "But no, you had to go and—"

"What I'm curious about," Remus overrode Peter easily, but no one minded at all; such was life with the Marauders, "is how your visit to St. Mungo's went."

No one outside of James' family knew about his most recent visit to St. Mungo's, more because of his position than because of his pride.  While he certainly didn't care if the Wizarding public knew that his paralyzed condition continued to baffle the healers (the fact that he was still in a wheelchair gave that away, anyway), what James didn't want was to be mobbed by reporters every time he went to the hospital.  Also, the healer in charge of his treatment was downright camera-shy, and James had no desire to add any extra stress to her life.  Martha Blackwood was one of the most brilliant in her field, and if she could not find a solution, he doubted anyone could.

After a moment, he shrugged in response to Remus' question.  "About the same," James replied, trying not to sound disappointed, but knowing that he could not fool the others.  "Martha is still working on new spells to try, and did get a little bit of feeling for a few minutes, but…"

"You did? That's outstanding, James!" Sirius cut him off, wearing a huge smile.  "Why didn't you tell us before?"

"Mostly because it didn't work for long," he admitted glumly.  "She tried the same spells again, and nothing happened.  Maybe it was just my imagination."

"I'm sure it wasn't your imagination," Peter said quietly.  "You'll get your legs back.  Wait and see."

"I wish I had your confidence."

Sirius' hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed.  "We'll find a way."

--------------

"Ladies and gentlemen, time is winding down," Kingsley Shacklebolt said quietly.  Rarely did all the members of Auror Candidate Class 4904 assemble in one place, but the morning of August 11th had proved to be an exception.  Oddly enough, Frank Longbottom was nowhere in sight, which made the class heave a collective sigh of relief—lack of Longbottom just _might _mean that they would have a few moments of peace.  

"As you all know, your training has been abbreviated and expedited beyond that of any class that has come before you.  The destruction of the Ministry of Magic last month and recent developments in the war have pushed us, and you, to train new Aurors as quickly as possible." Shacklebolt's dark eyes scanned the group carefully, making Tonks feel a nervous flutter in her stomach.  Before coming to Avalon just over one month before, she had thought that she was a reasonably well-rounded witch, but her time in Auror training had taught her otherwise.  Tonks had never been so stressed, so strained, so tired—or so proud of herself and her friends.  They had been pushed hard, but Candidate Class 4904 had risen to the occasion.

Quickly, she glanced around at her fellow candidates, hiding a smile behind her hand.  They'd only been on Avalon for thirty full days, but it felt like a lifetime, and she had already made friendships that she knew would last forever.  In comparison, her friends at Hogwarts seemed like childhood acquaintances, despite the seven years they had spent together.  As nice as they had been, none of them would understand where she was now.

An elbow dug into her side.  "Pay attention!" Horace Smeltings hissed in her ear, and Tonks had to struggle not to blush.  She'd been drifting again, and if any of the instructors saw it, she was so much toast.

Throwing her section mate a sheepish grin, she turned her attention back to Shacklebolt.

"On September 23rd, Phase Three of your training will end," the big Auror was saying.  "At that time, you will each be chosen by an active Auror, who will serve as your Mentor until they believe you are ready to operate on your own.  Between now and that time, you will be watched by these Mentors, even when you do not believe you are.  So I advise you to plan your moves accordingly.

"That said, you have case studies to do.  Dismissed."

The candidates all rose silently as their trio of instructors departed, waiting for Weasley, Shacklebolt, and Jones to leave before the chatter began.  Immediately, Horace turned to Tonks.

"So, who do you want?"

"Want as—oh, _damn_." Without meaning to, she'd managed to sidestep straight into Dana Lockhart, who only chuckled.

"Never mind that, Tonks," her friend replied, and Tonks shot her a grateful smile.  

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"Not a problem." Dana waved her apology off, then went straight to the point that Horace had been attempting to warm up to.  "So, do you think you'll get your cousin?" 

"Sirius?" Tonks asked as they walked out of the classroom, barely managing not to bump into another desk on the way out.  Dana and Horace both nodded, but she shrugged.  "I have no idea, really.  I hardly know him."

"He's your cousin," Horace objected.

"Yeah, but I was only nine when he was captured," she said.  "I have some memories of him from before that, but not many.  And I've only talked to him once since then."  _And made a fool of myself doing so, but what's new in that?_

"But he is family, and the old families do stick together," a new voice intruded, and Tonks found it hard to wipe the scowl off of her face before she turned to face the other two members of her section.  Cornelia Crouch was not so bad, but when she had been thinking of lasting friends earlier, Jason Clearwater had definitely _not_ been someone she'd had in mind. 

It was odd how some members of her section seemed desperate to view her as a Black, Muggleborn father notwithstanding.  Equally perplexing (at least to Tonks) was the way that Horace and Dana steadfastly ignored her old lineage, choosing instead to look at who she was rather than what her family had done.  Tonks suspected that Cornelia would have been more likeable had it not been for Jason, but Dana's stance was still a mystery.  The Lockharts weren't exactly one of the oldest families in the Wizarding world, but they were pureblooded, which meant that Dana _should _have sided with the pureblooded Clearwater and Crouch faction against the Muggleborn Smeltings and Half-blood Tonks.  Still…she shrugged.  Friends were friends, and it was nice to know that every pureblood wasn't as stuck up as Tonks' horrible aunts.

She ignored Jason's remark and instead continued talking to Dana.  "I don't think he'll take a student at all, actually."

"Why not?" Surprisingly, it was Cornelia who asked, and the interest on her face made Tonks suddenly wonder if the classically beautiful Cornelia wasn't _sweet _on Sirius.  _Oh, that would be funny! _She had to resist the urge to giggle out loud.  _I don't think she's his type at—_

"I would think that he'd be too busy, wouldn't he?" Horace asked quietly.  

"Maybe." But Cornelia's sharp eyes continued to study Tonks as the members of Class 4904 filed into the candidate housing areas.  "Would you want to be his student?"

"Well"—_Thump—_"Ouch!  Not again!" Tonks snarled despite herself as she tripped over a fallen chair that someone had left right inside their common room entrance—_was that someone me?_ Still, the impact made her think about more than whoever had left the fallen chair there.  Tonks shrugged.  "Of course I would," she replied, righting the chair.  "Who wouldn't?"

But something told her that she wasn't being truthful, even with herself.  On the surface, yes, Tonks would have loved for her cousin to be her Mentor, but underneath… Underneath, there was a different feeling.  She respected her famous cousin a great deal, and still felt an enormous amount of awe every time she thought about everything he had done.  He was the only one to face the Dark Lord alone and survive, a legend even amongst Aurors.  There was no doubt that Sirius was a hero, but what had that cost him?

"So, speaking of Sirius Black, what about those case studies?" Horace suddenly asked, reminding the section of what they were supposed to be doing with their few hours off.

"Good question," Dana snorted.  "Too bad you don't know him better, Tonks.  That would make it a lot easier to compare Black v. Voldemort to Slytherin v. Gryffindor."

Tonks chuckled as she flopped down onto the couch next to Cornelia.  "Who needs Static Dueling, anyway?" she asked half in jest.  "Why the hell would anyone want to stay in one place?"__

Dana rolled her eyes.  "You might not have a choice, you know."

"It's more dignified, as well," Jason pointed out.

"Dignified?" Three voices echoed incredulously, and even Cornelia laughed.

"Next we know, you'll be asking to fence," she added.

"I'm not thatold fashioned."

"Sure you aren't!" Dana teased him, and for a moment, Tonks thought that the ever-prickly Jason Clearwater might be offended.  The rest of Section Four had a wonderful ability to get right under his pureblooded and old fashioned skin, but today, at least, Jason chose to laugh.  He even blushed a little bit, though Tonks thought she sensed something else lurking behind the smile.

"Can we go back to the case studies, now?" he asked plaintively.

--------------

"Mum!" Harry rushed into the kitchen, waving a piece of parchment wildly.  "It's here!"

Startled, Lily's wand twitched out of line and made the burner's flames leap straight into the frying pan and wrap around it.  Immediately, the pan began to glow, and the small room filled with the smell of burning omelets.  Lily bit back the need to snarl and regained control of the pan, sending it crashing into the sink with a wave of her wand.  Harry, however, never lost his smile, and the obvious happiness on his face made his mother grin.  Despite herself, she laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair, making the twelve-year-old yelp indignantly.

"Mum!"

She snickered.  "That's what you get for ruining breakfast."

"Did I?" he asked worriedly with an innocent look that was completely identical to his father's.  Even after thirteen years of marriage and twelve as a mother, that face could still slay her with a glance.

"No, there are more eggs," she relented.  Lily pointed her wand at the smoldering omelet ruins in the sink.  "_Scourgify_.  So, tell me about your Hogwarts letter."__

"How did you know it was from Hogwarts?"  Harry asked as she turned back to the now-clean frying pan and used her wand to bring the egg carton flying over.  Lily placed her wand down and began cracking open another set of eggs as she answered,

"Where else would it be from?"  She chuckled at the confused look Harry shot her, then continued, "You've only been worrying about it for days."

Lily heard the blush in her son's voice.  "Was it that obvious?"

"Oh, yes.  But did you really think that Remus would let you down, Harry?"

"No," he replied uneasily.  "I was just…"

"Worried.  I know."  Lily turned around after placing the pan back over the burner and muttering a spell to keep it level this time.  She smiled slightly.  "And I  understand why.  It hasn't been an easy summer."

Harry's smile was rueful.  "No kidding."

"But tell me about the letter.  What new books do you need?"

"_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_, _Intermediate Transfiguration_, and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ and _The Dark Arts Outsmarted _because Professor Fletcher is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts now," her son replied with shining eyes.  "I can't wait.  It'll be great not to have to listen to Professor Quirrell stuttering all the time."

"I guess that the cursed job is about to become uncursed, huh?" she asked with a smile that hid her relief.  Lily had never been comfortable with Quirrell's role as Hogwarts' Dark Arts professor, because like Remus, she had known what he really was.  But Remus hadn't had a choice in the matter then, because Fletcher wouldn't take the job.  So, while she had no idea how Remus had convinced the scared and haunted Mundungus Fletcher to take a job teaching a subject that he hated more than anything, Lily was very glad that Dung had been convinced.  Harry and his fellow students needed someone like Dung to teach them.  They needed someone who would not hide the truth.

"Yeah, I don't think any curse could get rid of Professor Fletcher, no matter how nasty," Harry agreed.  "I wasn't looking forward to having a new Dark Arts professor every year, either.  But I wonder why Remus won't tell us who the new Transfiguration Professor is?  I mean, he's told you, hasn't he?" 

Lily chuckled.  "No, he hasn't, actually, but I suspect that he's told your father."

"So, you don't know, either?"

"I never said that I didn't know, dear.  Only that Remus didn't tell me.  I happen to be personally acquainted with your new Transfiguration teacher."

"Not fair!" Harry howled, making his mother laugh wickedly.

She reached out to tousle his hair again.  "I may not be a Marauder, Harry, but I always get my revenge."

"Mum!" Then he peered at her with an angelic expression.  "What'd I do?"

"Ha! Don't play innocent with me," she snorted.  "I didn't miss the rampage your new set of Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls wrecked on the parlor—nor did I miss the fact that your didn't clean up after yourself, either."

"Dad told you, didn't he?" Harry scowled.

She smiled.  "I did marry the man, dear."

--------------

"Chicken?"

"Chicken," she confirmed.  "It's the only thing I dare eat here."

"Me, too." They both chuckled.  Sirius and Julia were in a seedy Muggle pub that was far better known for its home-brewed beer than for the quality of its food—though The Dirty Dog's food was locally acknowledged to be slightly 'interesting,' which was what prompted both to order chicken.  That, at least, would not kill them.

Sirius sipped his beer, watching her smile over the rim of his glass.  Were he feeling in a sappy mood, he could have played the medieval poet and waxed rhetoric about how he could stare at that smile all day long—but this wasn't a time for romance, and Julia would only have laughed at his sorry attempts to rhyme, anyway.  However, he did wish that they didn't meet so often to say farewell.  "So, when do you leave?"

"Friday morning." Her smile faded.  "I wish that I didn't have to go so soon, but all the same…I've been in London for too long.  I'm getting restless."

"I can tell." He spoke lightly, but knew it was the truth.  Julia thrived on adventure, on challenging herself.  She chafed under the constant supervision of her brother and the Dark Lord, and hated the role that they forced her into.  She'd be much happier after spending a few months off in some abandoned jungle or cave—some magical archeologists might Apparate home to sleep in comfort every night, but not Julia.  She _lived _the life that she loved.

"I'll visit," she promised.  "Often."

One of the things that he loved so much about her was that she was so much her own person—but she would keep that promise.  Sirius grinned. "I'll chase you if you don't."

"You think you're up for the challenge? she retorted with shining eyes.  "I can be awfully hard to find in the Nile Valley."

"Is that where you're off to this time?"

"Yeah."  Julia's enthusiasm wavered.  "Not by my choice, but he thinks that the Temple of Isis may hold the original Philosopher's Stone."

Sirius whistled softly despite himself.  "He still seeks immortality."

"Always," she agreed.  But then her face tightened.  "Speaking of my…employer, Sirius, Lucius reminded me of something the other day."

"Oh?" The change in her tone immediately told Sirius that this was no laughing matter, and he felt a chill run down his spine.  Unless he was wrong, the worry in Julia's eyes meant that the moment they'd been dreading for months had finally come.  "Has he—?"

"Not yet.  Lucius thinks soon, though, and I can't fault his logic," Julia admitted.

"Ah." His mind raced.  "But no order yet?"

"Not even a hint." Her voice remained quiet but took on an urgency that set Sirius' teeth on edge.  "But he wants you dead, and I know that he won't wait.  Unless I offer him some sort of information that makes you more valuable alive than dead, someone is going to try to kill you.  I've tried to keep it from being me, but I doubt that will work long."

"Not with him, it won't."  Sirius took a deep breath.  Back when they had made the fateful decision to pick up where they had left off a decade before, both had known that that this day would come.  Yet that knowledge did not make facing the dangers any easier, and Sirius knew even one small mistake would kill at least one of them.  "Well.  In that case, we need to tempt him with something."

"But how? And what?"

He paused, thinking fast.  "Tell him that we're meeting again tomorrow," Sirius said slowly.  "Say that you don't know why I want to talk to you, but you're curious."

"But we won't be meeting then, will we?" Her gray eyes narrowed. 

"No, I'll be in Diagon Alley with Harry and his friends, but it will buy us a little time."

"Not much."

--------------

There were certain things that Severus Snape despised about his life, and this had long ago become one of them.  Years ago, maybe, it had not mattered so much—but he had been blinded then, by dreams of power and purity and glory.  Now he wasn't nearly so starry-eyed, or so damn _hopeful_.  People called him bitter, and they were probably right, but that's what came of skunking around in the darkness after killing someone who did not deserve to die.

He Apparated several hundred yards short of his destination, needing to walk some of the tension off.  His companions had no qualms about what they had just done, he knew.  Their Lord had ordered the death, and so it was decided.  Right and wrong did not enter the equation; Death Eaters did not need to concern themselves with such matters when the Dark Lord commanded them to obey.  Most of them probably would not have even thought of the fact that their victim had possessed blood far purer than their own.  He had been an enemy, and that was enough.

Severus tore his mask off as he walked, wishing that he could simply drop it along the way and forget.  It was a foolish wish, and not one that such a practical man often indulged in, but sometimes… He shrugged, not bothering to complete the thought.

Domus Archipater loomed large behind the high gates, but Severus no longer considered his ancestral home beautiful.  In many ways, he did not even consider it _home_—because what was home, if not a place where one could relax?  Domus Archipater, for all its illustrious history and Snape family traditions, was an empty shell of a house.  A large and luxurious shell, of course, but a shell all the same.  It held no importance, except as a symbol.  Hogwarts was more his home than this dark place had ever been.

He sighed.  A few more days and the lie would begin again, but it would be a relief to go back to the same old lie.  At least there was meaning in his play-acting at being a professor; at least there was a point.  Here, he was just another Death Eater at the Dark Lord's command, and no amount of soap would ever clean the innocent blood from his hands.

---------------

  



	17. Chapter 17: Dark Winds Stirring

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Seventeen: Dark Winds Stirring

The next morning, breakfast at the Burrow had quickly become a mad house.  Two days after the election and one after a slew of Hogwarts letters had arrived, the Weasleys, Potters, and Grangers had begun to coordinate how to get their mass of offspring to Diagon Alley.  Of course, each family could have brought their own children there separately, but they would have all ended up together eventually, so it was far easier to start off from the same place.  That, in turn, had brought Harry and Hermione to the Burrow, sans parents—both sets had to work.  But because Arthur also had to work (he and James had departed at dawn to meet with the Muggle Prime Minister), Molly Weasley had also ended up playing host to Sirius Black, chaperone extraordinaire.  

But breakfast with the Misfits in the house was still a disaster.  Fred and George had been trying to light Hermione's hair on fire, until they were thwarted by Ginny's "accidental" orange juice spill that both twins were _still _howling about.  Harry and Ron were ignoring their now-cold meals to play with Harry's set of Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls, which were wreaking havoc on the Burrow's kitchen.  Hermione, on the other hand, was engrossed in learning about all the different methods of magical cooking from Mrs. Weasley, and probably represented the only calm person in the entire kitchen, since Percy had stormed out over twenty minutes before.

Except for Sirius.  He was reading the _Daily Prophet, _and was quite content to munch on his bacon while the children shouted, laughed, and tried out new practical jokes on one another.

"Did you know," he asked Molly without looking up from the paper, "that Eric Dummingston died last night?"

"Who?" Fred asked, his mouth full of eggs.

"Fred!" his mother snapped.  "Mind your manners!"

"Jeez, Mum.  Can't you get it right?" the other twin asked wickedly.  "I'm Fred.  _That's _George!"

Sirius almost choked on his orange juice as Ginny rolled her eyes.  "Don't you two _ever _get tired of that trick?"

"No," both answered innocently.

Molly's eyes narrowed.  "_Fred_, mind your manners.  Don't talk with your mouth full—_or _chew with your mouth open!"

"Yes, Mum." Clearly, the boys all knew which battles weren't worth fighting.  Within seconds, however, the chaos resumed, expect for Hermione, who asked:

"Isn't he that senior _Daily Prophet _reporter?"

Sirius half-smiled.  "Yeah." His eyes met Molly's across the table, and he read her sudden understanding of what he would not say.  "He died last night."

"How?" Hermione, unfortunately, was far too smart for her age.

"Wow, Fred, look at that!" Ron interrupted, grinned.  One of the Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls had become caught on top of a tall bookshelf and was bouncing crazily between the top shelf and the ceiling.  It served as a wonderful distraction, and let Sirius pretend that he had not heard Hermione at all.

"Ron, get that down!" Molly ordered.

"I'll get it, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, jumping up on a chair and trying to capture the Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Ball while everyone watched.  Everyone, that was, expect for Hermione.  Despite his attempt to ignore her, her eyes were still on Sirius.

"He was killed, wasn't he?" she asked quietly. 

No one else was paying attention, but even if anyone had been, he wouldn't have lied to her.  Sirius nodded.  "Yes.  He was."

"Was it because of the article?"

"I think so," he replied softly. 

Hermione paled slightly, but she nodded.  She was a brave girl, Sirius knew, and a very smart one.  Not for the first time, he was glad that Harry had made a friend who was as sharp as she was.  There was no doubt in his mind that Hermione's brains had pulled the Misfits out of a tight situation more than once, and Sirius was sure that she would continue to do so in the future.  The boys, of course, had no idea how lucky they were to have her, but that wasn't exactly surprising.  _Especially at this age._  Hermione leaned slightly forward before whispering, "That's not very fair, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Sirius agreed.  "But that's what we're fighting."

"If the war is still going after I leave Hogwarts, I'm—"

"Ron!" Ginny howled, cutting Hermione off as a green Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Ball landed on her head.

"It wasn't me!" her brother objected.

"Sorry, Ginny," a red-faced Harry apologized.  He'd managed to free the green Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Ball from its trap between the shelf and the ceiling, but it had obviously found a new target. "That was my fault."

"Oh—_ahh__!_" She ducked as a purple one almost hit her in the face.  "Ron!"

"That was Fred!"

"Fred!"

"It was George!"

"You can't fool me, you big—"

"That's enough!" Molly cut them off.  "_Accio_Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls!"

Oh, and was _that_ a bad idea.  Molly yelped as all twelve of the Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls suddenly came sailing at her head with no intention of stopping.  She managed to duck most of them, but two bounced off of her head while a third hit her left shoulder.  Then, the dozen Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls continued upon their merry way, creating chaos in the Weasley family kitchen like never before.  The children shrieked with laugher as Molly snarled in anger, gesturing with her wand and sending a jet of energy at one of the yellow balls.  She missed, of course, and broke a picture in the process.  Molly would have tried a second time, however, if Sirius hadn't reached his left hand out to stop her.  She glared at him, but the look faltered when the Auror shot her a lopsided smiled.

"Allow me." Having put the _Daily Prophet _down to stop her, his wand had almost instinctively come to hand.  Now he aimed it in the general direction of the most Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls.  "_Finite Exsilimultom!"___

As one, the balls fell to the floor, making Molly sigh with relief and the children groan.  Then Harry shrugged. 

"We were wondering how to stop them," he commented.

Sirius snorted.  "Didn't you think of reading the directions?"

"Well, uh…Dad took them." Harry shrugged.  "He said that we'd figure it out.  Eventually."

"Not in my house, you aren't!" Molly declared as Sirius struggled not to laugh.  "That's quite enough playtime.  Go get your lists.  We'll leave as soon as this mess is cleaned up."

Julia Apparated into her apartment with a_ crack_, dropping her mask and Death Eater robes on her way to the fireplace.  A month previously, she had finally broken down and bought herself an apartment in London; she was spending far too much time in the city to justify staying in a hotel every one of those nights.  It wasn't that she lacked the money to do so; rather, she deplored the waste of not having a constant place to come "home" to.  In the five days that had passed that had passed since she'd spoken in depth with her brother, Lucius _must _have related the subject of their conversation to the Dark Lord, because Voldemort hadn't spoken the order that she had dreaded hearing.  No, he'd approached the problem in a far different manner.

She tossed a handful of green powder into the fire, hoping against hope that no one was watching her.  This certainly qualified as one of the stupider things she'd done in her life, but there was no time to find a safer way to accomplish her mission.  

Emerald flames colored the fire, and without hesitation, Julia thrust her head in and began to speak, ignoring the usual dizzy feeling.  The world could spin all it wanted, because she had much more important things to worry about.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," she said quickly, and hoped against hope that he was still home.

-------------

"Guests first," Molly said, waving Harry and Hermione forward.  

"Which one?" George asked innocently as Hermione blushed.

"I've never used Floo Powder," she said nervously.  "I mean, I've read about it, but…"

Sirius chuckled softly, meeting Molly's eyes.  He spoke calmly and without emphasis, but he was sure that she understood.  "Perhaps I ought to go first."

"Why—oh."  Her face suddenly matched Hermione's color.  "Yes.  By all means."

Sirius, of course, had no need to use Floo Powder and even less desire to do so.  He'd been Apparating since he had turned seventeen, and had hated the Floo Network even longer.  But it paid to be careful.  While there was no reason to suppose that Voldemort's followers wanted to target Harry, much less knew that they were coming to Diagon Alley, Sirius no longer believed in taking chances with the lives of those he cared for.  Poor Molly, though—she wasn't used to this, despite the years of war, and she was embarrassed by the fact that she didn't automatically consider all the security concerns.

He flashed her a smile, and took his wand out of his robes more for form's sake than anything else.  He didn't need it to Apparate (no Auror did), but wandering into potential danger without a wand in hand was one of the many rookie mistakes that Aurors half-jokingly classified as "Involuntary Suicide."

Sirius appeared in Diagon Alley with a quiet _pop_, his eyes automatically scanning for danger.  Yet the area around the public Floo Network fires was quiet, and the only people he could see seemed to be minding their own business.  Moments later, Harry rolled out of the fire, sputtering ash and growling furiously.  "I'm going to _kill _Fred and George!" Sirius' godson spat.

"What for?" Sirius asked, taking two steps sideways and leaning his back against the wall casually.  In that position, he could see everything and everyone, and while everything _seemed _normal, he knew that could change in an instant.  He wasn't trained to take chances.

"They threw some of Dr. Filibuster's finest in the fire with me." Harry scowled.

"Ooh." Sirius felt his eyebrows rise.  "I've never tried that before.  I imagine the results were interesting?"

Harry snorted.  "You can say that again." Then he brightened mischievously.  "Can we stop at Gambol and Japes before we go home?"

"Have revenge to plan?"

"Oof!"

Before Harry could answer, Hermione came tumbling out of the fireplace, coated in soot and with her frizzy hair sticking up in every direction.  Laughing, Harry bent to help her up.  "What took you so long?"

"Mrs. Weasley had to stop yelling at Fred and George long enough to put the fire out," she replied, brushing herself off madly.  "The fireworks made quite a mess."

Harry snickered.  "Serves them right."

"Harry!"

"What?" With his glasses slightly askew, Harry shot an innocent look that struck Sirius as a page straight out of the past.  For a moment, he was almost reminded of James and Lily at a slightly older age—but no.  These two were far too much like sister and brother for _that_.  He smiled to himself.  _Me and Lily, perhaps, but never James and Lily.__  These two will never be lovesick and stupid_.  Sirius chuckled, trying to imagine Harry ever falling in love with Hermione, and failed.  In that way, Harry wasn't like his father at all.  He wouldn't fall for the brainy girl—he'd fall for the daredevil.

Ginny rolled out of the fire.  "Sorry about my brothers," she said immediately.  "They have no sense of timing."

"Oh, we already knew _that_," Harry and Hermione said together.

Ron, fortunately, emerged unscathed from the Floo Network, followed by Percy, who managed to make being soot-covered into a much more dignified and serious affair than it should have been.  Next came the twins, who did not look abashed in the slightest, despite the fact that their mother Apparated right on their heels, scowling angrily.  She was also in mid-rant, having obviously been cut off when the twins dove into the fire with unseemly haste.

"—You two had better be on your best behavior, or you'll be grounded from now until the beginning of school!"

Fred and George exchanged identically calculating looks, clearly weighing the cost of eighteen days without fun in exchange for making a _bang _in Diagon Alley for one afternoon.  Molly, however, was far smarter than her devious twins gave her credit for being.

"And that means no Quidditch!" she hissed.

Fred started, "But Mum—" 

"We _have _to play Quidditch!" George finished.

"Oh, do you now?" Molly challenged, placing her hands on her hips and staring down at the boys.

Fred nodded earnestly.  "We're trying to help Ron qualify to play Keeper this year."

Percy rolled his eyes before his mother could reply.  "Of _course _you are," he said dryly.  "And your motives are _always _as pure as a newborn baby's."

"Actually, Percy, they are," Ron retorted, eagerly stepping forward to his brothers' defense.  "They've been helping me a lot."

"Be that as it may, behave yourselves or _no Quidditch!"_ Molly retorted sternly, but Sirius could tell that she was glad to see her rambunctious boys helping their younger brother out.  Clearly, that hadn't been a regular event in the Weasley household before the advent of the Misfits—Sirius had a feeling that Ron used to be the little brother who the twins always used for the butt of every joke.  Now, though, he was a full-blown prankster, which made _this _situation just a tad familiar.

_Déjà vu, anyone?_ he thought to himself, trying not to smirk.  _Oh, you poor woman.  There were only four of _us. 

"Shall we go?" he asked with a smile, his eyes still scanning for danger that his instincts told him did not exist.  Sirius would have been perfectly amused to watch the Molly v. Weasley Twins War rage all day long, but they did have places to go and books to buy—not to mention the fact that Harry and Ron looked ready to wander off on their own if someone didn't get things moving.  _First I'm a chaperone, and now I'm a peacemaker, _he thought ironically.  _What _is_ the world coming to?_

-------------

Remus stifled the urge to groan, staring at the numbers and wishing that they would change.  He had known that some students would not come back, but he had never thought that it would be so bad.  Slowly, he went over the numbers again, and began ticking off students in his head.

Attendance was down by a full ten percent.  Remus had expected two or three percent, or maybe even five—but _ten_?  Aside from Lee Jordan, there were seven other students who should have returned but could not, and the rest of the missing children were first years who now could not be—and the horror of it was that many of them came from families that were involved in the war _against_ Voldemort.  Those parents should have been the ones who sent their children to Hogwarts in defiance of the Dark Lord's increasing power…but they were afraid.  A part of him could understand fear, but Remus could never comprehend hiding because of it.  

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.  Bad enough that he'd transformed the night before and had slept late into the early afternoon because of it, but Remus had not been sleeping well at all lately.  Although he could not remember them, he knew that his dreams had been disturbed, and he could not escape the suspicion that something was about to happen.  The feeling had been growing worse throughout the summer, perhaps because of his proximity to the Font and the lack of students at the school, but Remus had such a feeling of foreboding that he'd hardly been able to keep food down—and that was _not _a problem that he ever had after transformations.  Still, his stomach was churning, and he knew that something was going to happen.

_Screams.___

His head jerked up from where it had fallen on the oak desk; somehow, Remus had managed to drift off without knowing.  Disoriented, he shook his head.  For a moment, his office had possessed a remarkable similarity to Diagon Alley, and Remus had to take a moment to remember where he was.

Sighing, he reached over and took a sip of his now cold tea.  Obviously, it hadn't helped keep him awake before, but Remus disliked losing control.  Doing so always had consequences, and given his unique…status, those consequences were never pleasant.  To say the least.

_Fire_.

He blinked, suddenly closing his left hand on the teacup so hard that Remus heard an audible _crack_.  Quickly, he placed the cup on its saucer, slowly shaking his head to clear it yet again.  But visions of flames still danced before his eyes.

They had not left.  He was not dreaming.  He had not drifted off again.  Not this time.  _Was I even asleep the first time?_ Remus wondered, his heart pounding.  He had suspected for weeks that his dreams were not just dreams, but he had never been able to remember them long enough to consider what they might mean.  He took a deep breath.  _What are you trying to tell me?_

Too bad the Font never answered.  Had the infernal source been able to speak, it might have solved all kinds of problems—like his sleeplessness, like his uneasy feeling, like his changed transformations—

_More screaming_. 

Suddenly, Remus was sitting bolt upright in his chair without having realized that he had done so.  Now, however, he felt fully awake—and very dizzy.  Even five months after going into the Font of Power, he was not used to the odd feelings the visions gave him.  He often wondered if the effects would ever fade, if he would ever be able to control them in the way he thought Dumbledore had…but there was no way to know and no one to ask.  However, there was no time for thought, either.  A whirlwind of colors blurred his office's furnishings into rainbow streaks, and for a moment he felt like he might completely lose consciousness, but—

Images began to dance before his eyes.

_Florean Fortescue's was burning.  Flames leapt out from the windows, peppering bystanders with ash and smoldering wood.  A black-haired witch screamed as her hair caught on fire, and it took her companion three tries before he could extinguish it while her little son cowered in terror._

_Laugher.___

_Whirlwind.___

_Screams.___

He could almost feel the heat from the flames.

_Smoke in the streets, billowed by false winds.  Debris flew through the air, crashing into those who fled from the flames.  _Flash_.__  Green light.  A man's howl of grief.  Lifeless bodies in the street.  Death everywhere._

His office smelled like smoke.  Was it burning?  Charred flesh.

Flash_.___

_Dark robed figures striding down the center of the street.  Laughing._

He was cold.  

_All were masked, save one.  And his red eyes burned._

_Those who could not flee took the only option that was left to them—they submitted.  Witches and wizards knelt to the Dark Lord.  He swept forward, ignoring their surrender._

So cold.

_Green light.__  Green flash.  Green death._

_The Dark Mark burned bright in the sky.  _Flash.  _Something exploded.  A woman screamed in a voice that he knew.  She was struggling free of rubble from—_what?  _Her face was hidden, but there was a flash of red hair.   She turned towards an open doorway, and shouted the name again—_

_"Sirius!"_

"What?"

Startled, Remus jerked back in his chair.  His vision cleared abruptly, the images of death, fire, and Diagon Alley vanishing to reveal Fawkes.  The red and gold phoenix stood on Remus' desk, studying the headmaster with worried eyes.  Blinking, Remus realized that it was Fawkes' quiet song that had awoken him, had freed him from the dizzy vortex of visions.  He sucked in a shaky breath.

"Thank you," he said quietly, hoping that he meant it.  Was this how Dumbledore had dealt with the visions?  Had Fawkes been his failsafe, the one who rescued him when he went too deep?  Remus shivered.

The phoenix's head bumped gently against his chest as Fawkes continued to sing.  Slowly, the headmaster let out the breath he had not intended to hold.  "I know," he sighed, wishing that he knew what he knew.  But Fawkes' beak tapped his hand.

"What—?" Remus started to ask, then realized what his companion was trying to tell him.  There was a head in his fire.

-------------

"Remus?

"Hello?" She let out a hurried breath and struggled to stay calm.  In a few moments, she would no longer have a choice… "Please be here.  Please look at the damn fire…_Remus!_"

Suddenly, Hogwarts' headmaster was crouching before her, pale faced and surprised.  There was a phoenix on his left shoulder.  "Julia?"

"Yes!" She resisted the urge to cry in relief—Julia never cried, but she was sorely tempted now.  

"What's wrong?" His blue eyes never missed a thing, so she plunged right in.  There was no time to waste with niceties.

"The Dark Lord is going to attack Diagon Alley—"

"I know," Lupin cut her off calmly, and Julia felt her heart do a back flip.  

"How?" She stared.

"Never mind that." He shook his head, looking vaguely embarrassed and completely exhausted.  "But I know that he's going to attack.  I just don't know when."

Whatever his reasons, she _knew _that Remus Lupin was not a Death Eater.  Nor was he a traitor, and there was not time for curiosity.  He knew, but he didn't know enough.  "He's attacking _now_, Remus," Julia said quickly.  "Right now.  I tried to call Sirius, but he wasn't home—"

"Because he's already gone," he interrupted when she started to ramble, confirming her worst fears.  Julia's heart crashed. 

"We have to do something."

Lupin shook his head.  "No.  _I _have to do something—you can't risk it."

"But—" Having already known that did not make acceptance any easier.

"Let me go, Julia," Remus said quietly.  She had always thought of him as a kind man, but there was steel behind his words that she'd never seen before.  "The sooner I get moving, the sooner this ends.  Trust me."

She took a deep breath, knowing that he saw how much it cost her to do so.  "I trust you.  And good luck."

"Thanks."

Then he was gone, leaving Julia to reluctantly pull her head out of the fire.  Her chest was so tight that it was almost impossible to breathe, and she _knew _that her hands were shaking.  But she didn't look down.  She didn't want to see.  _Please let him be alive_, Julia thought desperately.  _Let today not be the day._  She would do anything to save him—but Remus was right.  And he hadn't had to say that any action was far more likely to kill Sirius than it was to help him.

Julia Malfoy was a highly logical woman, and she recognized the truth when she saw it. That, however, did not mean that she hated it any less.

-------------

"Are you done yet, Hermione?" Harry asked with impatience.

They'd been in Flourish and Blott's for almost an hour, and his stomach was growling so loudly that he was surprised that Mrs. Weasley couldn't hear it from where she and Ginny waited outside.  Ron looked ready to eat his copy of _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_, and the twins were ready (and willing!) to put something unsavory in Hermione's gigantic bag of books if she didn't hurry up.  Harry sighed.  Hermione was a great friend, but taking her into a book store seemed to last as long as a Muggle marathon.  Even Sirius looked impatient, but maybe that was because the young witch behind the book counter kept flirting with him.

Harry smirked, not feeling very sorry for his godfather.  To his left, Ron shifted uneasily, rolling his eyes and glaring at Hermione's oblivious back.  Fred and George were drifting towards the exit, probably having decided that pranking on a fellow Misfit was not a good idea…or at least when Mrs. Weasley was around.  

"Can we go to Gambol and Japes next?" Harry asked, turning to Sirius.

"After lunch," his godfather replied.  "Then, sure."

Harry grinned.  There were a few things that he desperately needed to stock up on before school started, and a few more that he wanted to hide from Fred and George (Mrs. Weasley had never said anything about _Harry _having to behave, and besides, she wasn't his mother.  Harry's parents knew better than to try and stop their son from pranking).  

"All right.  I'll just buy these two, and then we can go," Hermione announced.

Harry felt like cheering, but then the floor rocked under his feet.  "What—?"

"Get down!" Sirius shouted, shoving Harry forward.  He stumbled, and then landed face flat on the floor before he knew what hit him.

Books flew off the shelves like bludgers, hitting unsuspecting customers as they cried out in pain.  Fred took one in the stomach and doubled over, but his twin dragged him down to the floor before a shelf could hit him in the head.  Harry smelled smoke, and Mrs. Weasley's voice suddenly split the air.

_"Sirius!"___

---------------

  



	18. Chapter 18: The Storm Breaks

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Eighteen: The Storm Breaks

He was on his feet before he even understood that he was moving.  His left hand snaked out to grab the back of Harry's shirt while his right instinctively grasped his wand.  Ignoring his godson's surprised howl of protest, Sirius shouted to the other children.

"Come on!"

Outside was not likely to be any safer than it was inside of Flourish and Blott's, but at least the building could not collapse on them if they left.  Sirius hardly noticed when Fred grabbed Ron and George snatched Hermione; his mind was racing too busily.  Something was wrong, very wrong—yet he had no way of knowing what.  Not yet…and there was only one way to find out.  Quickly, Sirius rushed through the front entrance, shoving the door aside with enough force to crack the hinges.  It flew against the outer wall with a crash, but he did not hear.

The moment he stepped outside, Sirius knew that the worst had happened. A strong wind ripped down the alleyway, blowing his robes out behind him and whipping his hair back from his face. Pieces of buildings, benches, and signs were scattered all over the street, and hapless witches and wizards attempted to find hiding places amongst them when not pointing at the sky and screaming in terror.  Even Molly's eyes were riveted upwards; she paid no attention as Ginny struggled out from underneath a trash bin at her side.  Instead, Molly only stared, pale-faced and shaking.  Her wand was not even in her hands, and following her frightened eyes made a cold chill run down Sirius' spine.

The Dark Mark burned green in the sky.

Sirius froze in mid-stride, making Harry, whose arm he still held, stumble to a stop and almost go flying after tripping over Ron's feet.  A moment's concentration brought a wealth of information flowing into his mind—magic filled the very air, and it did not take an Auror's instincts to feel it.  He knew instantly that no one would leave Diagon Alley until the Dark Lord permitted it; heavy Anti-Apparation spells hung over the area like a great black shadow.  Also, he had no doubt that the Floo Network was similarly blocked; Death Eaters were anything but stupid.  There was no way to run, nowhere to hide.

People were screaming madly, fleeing in the direction of Flourish & Blott's from the other end of Diagon alley.  Terrified masses rushed towards Sirius, futilely attempting to escape the oncoming wave of destruction.  They could not fight him, and ran thinking that no one would dare try.

Twisting around, Sirius grabbed George's left shoulder.  "Take the others and run," he said quickly.  "Run and hide—you know Diagon Alley better than any dozen adults.  Don't come out unless your mother or I find you."

"But—" George started to argue, but the violently rising winds carried his words away.  Sirius shook him and shouted:

"Do you hear me? Don't come out for anyone!" Seven pairs of wide eyes stared at him in terror.  "_Not for anyone!"_

Fred snapped out of his shock seconds before his twin.  "Come on!" he cried, still grasping Ron's arm.  "We don't have time to lose!"

The six children bolted; only Harry lagged a step behind as he paused for a heartbeat to meet his godfather's eyes.  For a moment, it looked as if the boy might speak—there was a frightening amount of understanding in his green eyes, and suddenly Sirius wondered exactly what Harry _knew_—but there was not time.

"Go!" he shouted, and Harry ran.

Molly grabbed his arm.  Her hands were shaking, but the right one held her wand tightly enough.  "Where—?"

"It doesn't matter!" A quartet of terrified wizards headed their way.

"But—"

He cut her off by shouting in her face.  It wasn't exactly polite, but it was all he had.  "No! I needs you to get the Anti-Apparation fields down!  I need you to get these people out of here!"

"What will you do?" she asked fearfully.  Sirius almost laughed, but her face was horribly pale and frightened.  Pulling away, he managed a bloodless smile.

"What do you think?"

"Sirius—"

He'd managed to take two steps before the terror in her voice stopped him.  "You don't have to do this," Molly whispered.  "Just run."

The smile came easier this time, and the pounding in his ears seemed to quiet.  For a moment, Sirius almost felt sad.  And he felt oddly at peace with what he had to do.  Gently, he evaded Molly's attempt to grab a hold of him once more, feeling his bitter smile soften.

"I'm the only one who can," Sirius replied.

She stared at his back while he sprinted away.

--------------

"Dung!"

Remus burst into his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's private quarters without knocking.  Fletcher, who had been seated in a comfortable armchair with an old book in hand, jumped to his feet and dropped the book, grabbing for his wand.  Wide-eyed and startled, the ex-Auror backed up quickly, tripping over the end table.  He stumbled, but his aim never wavered and his wand stayed pointed at Remus' face.

"Easy, Dung," the headmaster said, raising his empty hands slowly.  "We've got a problem."

"What?" The crazed look in his friend's eyes faded slightly.  Dung blinked.  "What are you talking about?"

"Voldemort is attacking Diagon Alley."

Remus saw old fear spike in Dung's blue eyes.  "Right now?"

"Yes," he replied, taking a deep breath.  He didn't dare say much, even to Fletcher.  "A friend told me."

"Snape?" the other asked perceptively.

"No.  But there isn't time for that.  We've got to go."

"Right." Fortunately, Dung understood too well to ask why.  He knew how thin the Aurors were stretched, and had to at least guess where they were based.  Avalon, after all, wasn't the most reachable of places, even at the best of times.  When the ex-Auror started asking questions, he was all business and already heading for the door.  "How many Death Eaters does he have with him?" 

"I have no idea."

Fletcher stopped cold.  "What?"

"There's no way to know," Remus said with an apologetic shrug.  "But Sirius is there."

"Shit."

Together, they bolted out of Dung's quarters, rushing down the closest set of stairs.  Through his unique link with the castle, Remus quickly ensured that the staircases sped them along their way instead of hindering them, but it still was a long way from the professors' private quarters to the castle's nearest exit.  Fortunately, both of them were still young men, and while Remus' condition made his wind longer than the average wizard's, Dung had no problem keeping up.  He'd once been an Auror, and although he'd refused to return to active service, Mundungus Fletcher was not the type of man who would allow himself to get fat

They sprinted towards the very edge of the Hogwarts grounds.  There was no faster way to get to Diagon Alley than by Apparating (using the Floo Network from Hogwarts was a complicated venture), but that necessitated leaving the school's property.  Or at least it meant that Fletcher would need to—Remus strongly suspected that his connection to the Font would allow him to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, but there was no way to find out, and now was certainly _not _the time to test that theory.  So they ran hard, tearing across the well-kept lawn and thankful that there were no students present in mid-August.  Hagrid yelled after the pair, but Remus ignored him.  

Sirius needed help. 

There was no physical line marking where the Anti-Apparation wards ended, but every Hogwarts professor knew where that exact place was.  Without passing a word between them, Remus and Dung both skidded to a stop and raised their wands.

Nothing happened.

The two exchanged startled glances.  _If he…_ Remus did not even want to finish the thought.

"A few more feet," Fletcher said quickly.  "Maybe we made a mistake."

They ran another dozen yards and tried again.

Nothing.

Dung swore, this time much more colorfully and creatively than the last.  But his blue eyes were frightened when he turned to look at Remus.  "He's put up wards."

"Yes." Remus swallowed.

"D'you think the Floo's blocked?"

"From here it won't be," the headmaster replied, trying desperately not to think about what Sirius might be doing while they wasted time.  For a split second, he contemplated calling James—but what good could James do?  Even he couldn't contact the Aurors fast enough to matter.  Only Sirius could do that, and Remus had a feeling that his friend would be far too busy to even think of it.  Besides, every moment Remus wasted was one more in which his friend was in danger.

And a blocked Floo Network meant that no one else could reach Diagon Alley—except for from Hogwarts, which was not part of the network at all.  Long ago, Dumbledore had arranged for the Hogwarts fires to be able to tap into the Floo Network without being a part of it, but doing so was not an easy process, and was not meant to be done quickly.  Time, however, was not something Remus had to waste.

"Let's go."

They ran again.

--------------

Three witches and two wizards (at least four of which he strongly suspected were Muggleborn) were suspended in the air and screaming when Sirius arrived.  He'd had to sprint less than fifty yards to meet his enemy, but his appearance remained unnoticed while the Death Eaters merrily tortured their victims.  Screams filled the alley, allowing Sirius to do a quick count of his opponents.  He faced eight Death Eaters, but what worried him more than that was the number of witches and wizards who cowered on the sidelines.  No one was fighting.  No one dared resist.

Voldemort was laughing.

One of the witches abruptly stopped screaming—dead, probably, if not worse.  But her four companions continued to suffer, and Sirius found the Death Eaters' display of pleasure absolutely sickening.  He was not surprised to see it, of course, and recognized the absolute terror that the tactic caused—but they had to be stopped.  And they had to be stopped now.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered in all the power he could muster, depending upon years of training and inborn magic.  Sirius stopped and raised his wand, bellowing:

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Caught by surprise, eight Death Eaters flew backwards, and eight wands sailed in Sirius' general direction.  He did not bother trying to catch them all, however; he was content to know that the wands were no longer in their owners' hands.  Besides, he had bigger problems to worry about, and the street had gone silent as the Death Eaters' former victims crashed into the ground.  Had he been able to do so, Sirius would have helped them…but a furious pair of red eyes was staring at him.  The Dark Lord had not expected him, Sirius realized, and the thought made him smile coldly.  _Here we go…!_  

"Are you going to play sick games all day, Voldemort, or are you going to fight?" he challenged.

The winds stilled as the Dark Lord stepped forward.  His cold voice was inhumanly calm.  "Well, well…we meet again, Sirius Black."

"And so it begins."  His heart beat rhythmically in his chest, constantly, readily.  Sirius was mindful of their audience, of the innocent witches and wizards who were stuck watching this surreal moment, but they did not matter.  _Eleven years ago, who would have thought I'd be _here_? I never expected this to happen._  Yet he was calm. Unsurprised.

_You knew, Sirius.  For at least five years, you have known_.

"You will die." Slowly, Voldemort's wand came up, pointing directly at Sirius' heart.  "You will die now."

Sirius grinned.  "Do your best."

They spoke in the same moment.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Extundo!"___

Both dodged at the same time, but even as Sirius rolled into his familiar combat crouch, he knew that something was different.  Voldemort seemed faster, stronger.  _Something has changed_.  The link from Azkaban had muted, faded.  He could still feel the Dark Lord's presence, but could not predict—

_"Imperio!"_Voldemort thundered.

_"Protego!"_He would not waste energy by using the actual counter to the Imperius Curse; a simple shield worked well enough if it had enough power behind it.  _"Incendio!"_

Voldemort batted the jet of flames aside.  "Come now, Black!" he laughed.  "I thought better of you!"

"I'm just getting warmed up," Sirius retorted.

"Droll, Sirius.  And quite disappointing," the other replied contemptuously.  His confidence was unnerving.  "If you're going to stand up to Lord Voldemort, you're going to have to be faster."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Sirius countered.  "Despite your best efforts to change that."

"Oh, yes.  For the moment."  The wand twitched.  _"Crucio."_

Flash of light.  Sirius dodged and shot a spell back almost without aiming.  _"Everbero!"_

The Strike spell was countered with ridiculous ease.  _"Debullum!"_

_"__Capitiscindo!"_

Spells impacted, sending showers of sparks everywhere.  The duel became thrust and motion, with spells cast so quickly that it was often impossible to think, and even more so to speak.  Half the incantations were left unspoken, or only muttered—it was the Azkaban duel in broad daylight, fought where dozens of witches and wizards could see.  Off to Sirius' right, the front door of Gringotts had burned off and lay smoldering on the steps, and the street was a mess of uprooted cobblestones and bent lampposts.  It felt like forever had passed before the Death Eaters finally picked themselves up off the ground, although Sirius knew that only a minute or two had passed. 

And then a spell broke through his defenses.

_"Venderum!"_

The dark spell hit Sirius full in the chest and sent him sailing backwards into one of the few standing lampposts.  He almost lost his wand when he hit, and felt ribs break.  Rolling instinctively to the left and gasping for air, Sirius had no time to block the next curse.

_"Crucio!"_

He screamed, and only training kept his wand between shaking fingers when his back arched off the ground in pain.  But the same training made him roll again, and twist so that his aim was true.  _"Vindireperio!"_

Somehow, Sirius doubted that anyone had ever managed to throw the Cruciatus Curse back at the Dark Lord, but if Voldemort was surprised, he did not show it.  The curse did not hit him, of course—Voldemort was far too fast for that—but it did distract him.  Also, it gave Sirius precious moments in which to struggle to his feet, holding his left arm against his chest and trying to count how many ribs were actually broken.  _Three.__  Damn._  Voldemort, however, had turned slightly to face a masked and ready Lucius Malfoy.

"My Lord?" Malfoy was saying.

"He is mine," was the dark reply.  "Go to the Floo Entrances," he ordered.  "We are about to have company."

A cold shiver shook Sirius' body.  He should have been relieved to know that help was on the way, yet…who was it?  And how did Voldemort know?  As eight Death Eaters headed out to stop his allies, a very bad feeling formed in the pit of Sirius' stomach.  _Something is very wrong_.

--------------

"Hagrid!" Dung shouted as they rushed back into the castle, almost careening straight into the half giant, who jumped several feet off of the ground in surprise.

"Professor Fletcher, yeh—"

"No time for that," Remus cut him off urgently, grabbing the big man's arm.  "Call the Ministry and get Aurors to Diagon Alley."

"Wha—"

"Because Voldemort's there, Hagrid!" Dung snapped, cutting him off.  "Call James _now_!"

They did not wait for his reply; instead, the two professors tore back up the stairs towards Dung's office.  There were fireplaces in all the professors' offices, but Dung's was the closest, especially when the castle cooperated.  And when a headmaster was desperate, there were few constants as strong as Hogwarts itself.  The link was there, and doubly strong because of the Font—Remus and Dung reached Fletcher's office within seconds, tearing the Anti-Floo Spells down as they ran.

Three quick strides carried the ex-Auror to the fireplace while Remus was still shutting the door.  Without hesitation, Dung grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it into the fire.

"You realize that we're going to be sorely outnumbered," he said calmly.

The fear had almost completely faded from his eyes, and Remus had never seen Dung Fletcher so cool, so focused.  He hadn't known him well in the days before Fletcher had been captured by Voldemort, but somehow the headmaster understood that he was seeing the Auror that Dung had once been, the man he had buried beneath memories and pain.  For three years, Fletcher had hidden from his past.  Now, though, he seemed to remember the man he had been before.

They would need that man today.

"I know," Remus said quietly.  "But what choice do we have?"

Dung nodded with understanding.  "None whatsoever."

"Let's go."

--------------

He straightened with an effort, pulling his left arm away from his chest.  _I will not show weakness.  Not before him._  Sirius took a deep breath, and did not allow his face to show fear when he let it out.  He was acutely aware of the many eyes upon him, could not miss how many witches and wizards were within distance to stare.  The innocent had stopped fleeing to watch the duel, and dozens of eyes held heartbreaking hope… _No weakness.  Not like this.  _Squaring his shoulders, Sirius adopted a classic dueling stance.  The time for taunting and baiting was over; this was not the type of duel he had fought before.  Sirius raised his voice and called:

"Let us finish this!"

Voldemort laughed.  "Are you so ready to die, Sirius Black?"

"Do your worst."

"Oh, I shall!" A long sweep of the Dark Lord's wand sent a greenish-blue spell sailing at the Auror; even as Sirius dodged by taking two quick steps to the right, the spell tracked him and sought to envelop him in a semi-translucent sphere of coldness.  Icy wind buffeted him, freezing his robes against his skin.  His wand felt like an icicle between his fingers, and it hurt so much to hold it that he would have dropped it had he been able.  A standard shield spell did not dispel the sphere, nor did the more powerful one that Aurors learned to use.  Finally, Sirius dug deep within himself and destroyed the spell with a wave of sheer power, and Voldemort's mocking laughter stopped.

Sirius smiled grimly as the cold disappeared.  _Alastor Moody taught me that, you bastard_, he thought bitterly.  _And I will remember him when this ends_.  He did not bother with words to cast his next spell; Sirius was now functioning at a depth of magic that was dangerous to duel from but was also extraordinarily powerful.  Moody had done it sometimes, and had taught him how—but his Mentor had warned Sirius not to use it unless the situation was truly desperate.

_I'd say this qualifies, Alastor_.

A vortex of fire appeared out of nowhere and wrapped itself around the Dark Lord.  The flames crackled and roared vigorously, but Sirius smelled nothing burning and jumped into motion a split second before Voldemort broke free of the fire.  Immediately, the Dark Lord cast deadly power in Sirius direction, but the Auror was running left already, firing spells as he went.

The advantage to casting without words was that spells could be created as quickly as they could be thought, and Sirius was not foolish enough to fight this duel by classical means.  Hundreds of witches and wizards had died trying that, and even the Azkaban Duel had been anything but normal.  So he stacked three curses almost on top of one another, hoping that at least one would break through Voldemort's defenses.  A moment later, Sirius cast a fourth: a Reductor Curse to follow a Conjunctivitis Charm, a Strike Spell, and a Hammer Curse.  Still moving, he watched the spells' multi-colored process as they sped towards Voldemort.  _Well, it worked for Dumbledore against Grindelwald, _Sirius thought, hoping that _this _Dark Lord had never read the Aurors' dueling case studies.

Either he'd read them, or Voldemort was just _fast_—he managed to bat the first three spells aside with a contemptuous wave of his wand, and scoffed at Sirius' Reductor Curse.  Still, it almost crept through his shields, making Sirius grin slightly—until a park bench reared up and almost slapped him in the face.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

He dodged, roiling and hoping to move fast enough to avoid both the bench and the Killing Curse.  Cobblestones exploded to his left as Sirius careened right, and suddenly Voldemort was back on the offensive.  Even as he rolled up into his old crouch, it was all Sirius could do to block the crisscrossing rainbow of curses coming his way.  Not far behind him, Florean Fortescue's exploded, and he heard several people scream.  But there was no time to look, or even to care.  Sirius managed to stop every spell that attacked him, but he had no chance to cast his own; operating with deep and silent magic, Voldemort was far too fast.

Mind racing, Sirius finally took a chance and thrust his wand forward.  "_Suffocoum!"_

It had been a calculated risk, and he had known that it would cost.  A Strike Spell broke through his tattered shields, hitting Sirius full in the chest and sending him flying backwards.  This time, he was fortunate enough to land in the street, but the impact still knocked the wind out of him even as Voldemort blocked his attack with apparent ease.  Sirius rolled desperately, and watched green light flash where his head had been a mere moment before.

Broken ribs aching, he levered himself back to his feet and paid the Dark Lord back in kind.  _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Far to the side, he heard someone scream in shock and terror.  It was nice to see Voldemort dodge, but it would have been far too easy to end the war that simply.  Power arched out at him, and Sirius dodged right, only to be hit by an Impediment Curse as soon as he realized that the other spell had been a feint.  He staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet and feeling like he was moving underwater. There was no way to move in time to avoid a Cruciatus Curse.

Sailing backwards, Sirius screamed.  He landed hard on one of the few upright benches, bouncing off its back edge.  Pain flared up his back, making him scream even louder.  Still, Sirius' Auror-trained mind noted that something else broke and cracked sharply, but there was no time for him to even guess what.  As he hit the ground, his body convulsed wildly, and it only took moments for Sirius to be aware of nothing but the pain.  His vision blackened, and a gray haze overwhelmed his already strained mind; there was nothing but the pain.  Nothing but blackness.  Nothing but… _No!_  He rolled desperately, unable to even breathe through the agony.

The curse followed him.   

_"Econtra Cruci!"_ Sirius gasped, struggling to speak through the horrible weight on his chest.  But nothing happened.  Nothing at all.

The Cruciatus Curse was one of the hardest of all spells to block, but Sirius had been trained to do so, and to do so every time…but his wand shook and his body jerked it out of line.  He didn't have the concentration, any concentration… _Not like this._

_"Vindereperio!"_  he bellowed, throwing all his strength into that single incantation.  What had not worked the first time got through the second, and the scorching pain retreated immediately when the curse rebounded back at the caster.

Voldemort howled in pain.

--------------

"Diagon Alley!" 

The shout echoed in Remus' ears while he spun through the multi-colored vortex of the Floo Network.  Still, the journey did not last longer than a heartbeat, and when he rolled out of the Public Floo Entrance at the Leaky Cauldron end of Diagon Alley, Dung was waiting.  The ex-Auror was crouched against the far left wall with his wand in hand, looking calm—but his scarred face was tight.

"Someone's coming," Fletcher said shortly.

Remus found that his own wand had somehow ended up in his hand by itself.  "Are you certain?"

His transfiguration professor shot him a look that Fletcher usually reserved for particularly dense (and often Slytherin) students, but Remus could only shrug in response.  His sensitive ears were still adjusting to the chaotic noise level of Diagon Alley—screams filled the air, amplified by the roaring sound of burning buildings.  His visions had been bad enough, but Remus had not known that it would be like this.  The sounds, the sights, the awful smells of burning flesh and bone…it was sensory overload for a werewolf, especially for one who had so recently transformed.  And his connection with the Font of Power only made matters worse; even now, he could feel its presence lurking in the back of his mind.  Something important was at hand—

_The Dark Mark in the sky—_

_A scream of pain, the Mark on a bleeding forearm—_

_Two pairs of eyes, one red, one blue, locked in mortal hatred_.

Head spinning, Remus staggered, gripping his wand desperately and struggling to clear his double vision.  _Leave me alone! _he ordered the Font.  _I don't have time for you!_

Miraculously, the visions retreated at his command, leaving Remus with a strangely empty feeling.  Suddenly, he felt cold. _What do you want of me?_

There was no answer.

"Quite sure," Dung answered Remus' already-forgotten question grimly.  "I cast a Dark Detector, and we've got at least three Death Eaters coming.  Maybe more."

Fletcher had come through the Floo all of thirty seconds before Remus, yet had managed to assess the situation and indemnify the most immediate threats.  And he'd done so without blinking an eye, without flinching or hesitating.

The Auror was back.

"Get ready," he said harshly.  "Here they come."

---------------

  



	19. Chapter 19: It Begins

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_.  If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever.  Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well.  That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come. 

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground.  The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me.  I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.  

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Nineteen: It Begins

"So, as you can see, this situation is a textbook example of what _not _to do when outnumbered three to one," Bill Weasley explained.  "Instead of backing off to regroup with his allies, Alastor Moody rushed forward to meet Avery, Vablatsky, and Madley.  In his case, the tactic worked, and Moody killed both Vablatsky and Madley before Avery escaped.  However, had Moody's student not been able to hold off both Rosier and Dolohov, and keep Moody's back clear, the tactic would have failed."

His eyes scanned the class of twenty candidates.  Weasley crossed his arms, arching one red eyebrow.  "Lessons learned?"

Immediately, Jason Clearwater raised his hand.  As brilliant as he was obnoxious and pureblooded, Jason always got in first.  He responded with a brilliant smile once Weasley called on him, flashing perfect teeth at his fellow candidates.  "Never leave your back uncovered, sir."

"Good." Weasley nodded, but Tonks thought that he looked somehow unsatisfied.  "Another? Smeltings."

"Don't get separated from your allies," Horace supplied immediately.  He was almost as shy as Jason was outgoing, and rarely volunteered in class.  Yet Horace always responded correctly when called upon, and Tonks knew that the slightly chubby and Muggleborn candidate was far brighter than he appeared.

"Yes.  Had Moody not been able to depend upon his brand new student, he would have died," the instructor confirmed.  "In battle, sometimes you _have _to—"

"Bill!"

The door to Classroom Four burst open with a crack, slamming against the wall so hard that Tonks thought it would break clean off its hinges.  She jumped, and noticed that most of her classmates did as well—but she stopped paying attention to their surprise after a few seconds.  Hestia Jones rushed into the room, with her black hair trailing behind her like a dark and tangled cloak.  The usually immaculate instructor was pale and harried, and her brown eyes were wide.

"What's wrong?" Weasley demanded.  His handsome face was still composed, but Tonks observed that his right hand had flown up his left sleeve, where it undoubtedly grasped his wand.  

"Voldemort," Jones gasped, making Tonks' heart leap into her throat.  The other candidates tensed, and Jones caught her breath abruptly.  She proceeded more calmly.  "He is attacking Diagon Alley."

"Now?" Despite the startled question, Weasley seemed cool.

"Now."

Somehow, Tonks was not surprised when Weasley only blinked in surprise.  Several of her classmates swore, and a few even jumped up from their seats.  But the two Aurors hardly seemed to notice; their grim eyes were focused on each other.  Tonks only wished that she could even _appear _as calm as the two of them were, but her heart was racing and her breath felt short.  _Diagon Alley_.  It was almost impossible to wrap her mind around the thought.  She could hardly believe… _All those innocent people!_  And Tonks knew that Voldemort would not spare a single one of them.  His purpose was to create terror, to slay and murder and torture until the world no longer dared to resist.  _This is what we're fighting for, _she thought grimly.  _This is why we risk everything_.  Jones continued:

"Frank just called."  Her severe face was focused in a way that Tonks had never seen before.  "You, Kingsley, and I are to Apparate there as soon as possible."  

Weasley paled.  "Very well."

"We could—" Jason Clearwater was on his feet.

"No." Weasley cut Jason off, his voice cold.  His blue eyes scanned the class.  "Ms. Tonks, you are in charge until an instructor returns."

"I—" _Me?_

"All lessons are cancelled.  Keep the island quiet and secure.  Study." He overrode her easily, then turned to Jones while Tonks was still busy gaping.  "Let's go."

The pair rushed out without another word, leaving Tonks to stare after them and her fellow candidates to stare at her.  Several moments passed in shocked silence, then the candidates began turning to look blankly at one another—and then back at Tonks again.

She shrugged helplessly.  "Me?"

--------------

The cauldron shop exploded, pelting the pair with boiling metal and brick fragments.  Fletcher swore and dove out of the way while Remus ducked back, retreating back into the building where the Floo Entrance was located.  It only took a few seconds for the reaction to die down, and Remus almost sighed in relief, but those short moments took entirely too long.  By the time that the smoke dissipated, five darkly cloaked and masked figures had come around the corner and were only feet away from the Apothecary.  Judging from their silhouettes, Remus guessed that two were witches and the other three were wizards, but there was no sure way to tell.  The leader, however, bore a strong resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange, which made Remus desperately hope that he was mistaken.  All five wands came up.

They had no time.

"Watch out!"

Dung reached for his arm to drag Remus out of the way, but there were times when being a werewolf had its uses; his reflexes were far faster than a mere human's could ever be.  Remus dove to the ground even as Bellatrix Lestrange screamed:

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Dung fired back immediately with a Strike Spell, but Bellatrix—and it was definitely her—dodged it with ease.  Several of her companions retaliated, but Remus' hastily erected Shield Charm ate up their curses even as it died.  Sheer instinct led the headmaster to follow up with a Reductor Curse, and he watched with surprised satisfaction when the curse struck Narcissa Malfoy in the right leg, spraying blood everywhere and making her scream in pain.  He hadn't known who the slimmest Death Eater was, of course, until she screamed, but there was no problem identifying Narcissa when she stumbled off to his right and fled into an empty building, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

_Four against two, _Remus thought grimly.  _Better, but not good enough_.  

_"Diffindo!"_ Dung shouted, attempting to cleave the other Malfoy in two.  However, the effort was doomed to failure; Lucius Malfoy was far too fast, and that day was no exception.  The experienced Death Eater dodged easily, but walked right into Remus' curse.  

_"Conteracio!"_

Malfoy flew high into the air and came crashing down again, hard, into the cobblestone street.  Remus grinned bloodlessly, dodged a Confundus Charm from one of the other Death Eaters—_Flint__?_—and selected a new target. _Flint__._  He and Dung struck at the same time.

_"Incendio!"___

_"Offenvox!"_

Flint managed to evade Remus' Fire-Lighting Curse, but not Dung's Shocking Spell.  The short Death Eater screeched in pain, leaping high into the air and kicking as if the effort could free him from the spell's effects.  But Remus did not have time to watch his antics; there were plenty more targets where Flint came from.

Unfortunately, one of those targets got in first.  _"Crucio!"_

"Dung!" Remus shouted, but it was too late—his companion collapsed, screaming under Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse.  Remus dodged an Impediment curse from Mulciber, Flint's erstwhile partner in crime, and fired off a quick spell, hoping to distract Bellatrix.

He missed, and Dung continued screaming.

Remus swore.  _"Vexameum!"_

Bellatrix shrieked when the curse hit her, making her body shake and spasm uncontrollably.  And then the unbelievable chance came, and she dropped her wand.  Remus cast another spell immediately, but she managed to roll away even as Dung bounced back to his feet, his blue eyes dark with pain and old memories.

_"Finite Incantatum!"_  Bellatrix snapped, still wandless, but yet—_Damn_, Remus realized worriedly.  _She can—_Bellatrix's wand leapt into her hand, and Remus bolted towards her with hardly a thought.

--------------

A giant bang rocked Diagon Alley, making Molly jump.  She'd wisely stepped aside when five Death Eaters had sprinted past, and now sheltered inside the front doorway of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Molly was no warrior, and she knew it.  She stood no chance against a single Death Eater, let alone five, and though she might have slowed them down by a few seconds, in the end she would have only gotten herself killed.  Facing them was not her job, and besides, she had bigger problems to face.

Molly had watched the children rush into Quality Quidditch Supplies, but had no idea where they had run to since, and worry gnawed at her heart.  She prayed that they were safe, but Molly could not afford distraction.  Sirius had charged her with dismantling the Anti-Apparation fields, and she _had _to do it.  If she didn't, more innocent people would die, and she knew that Sirius Black would be among them.  Molly was not a fool.  She knew where he had gone, and who he faced.

And she was well aware of the glowing green mark that even the smoke could not blot out of the sky.

"Think," Molly whispered to herself.  "Just think."

With an effort, she forced her mind back to business.  A few diagnostic spells had all ready shown her how the multiple wards were layered; they overlapped carefully and were designed so that one spell could not bring them all down.  The Death Eaters were definitely talented, and they knew their work well—but the past few months with Lily and the Unicorn Group had taught Molly a type of finesse that they lacked.  Unfortunately, dismantling the fields would take time—time that she did not have.

Lifting her wand, Molly went to work.

--------------

"There are Anti-Apparation fields in place," Kingsley Shacklebolt said the moment that Hestia and Bill burst into Avalon's secondary Apparation Area.

Hestia swore, and Bill's heart froze in his chest.  A long moment passed before he felt able to speak, and even then, his voice sounded hollow in his own ears.  "What do we know?"

"Remus Lupin was warned about the attack," Kingsley replied.  "He and Dung Fletcher are on their way to Diagon Alley now—Lupin alerted the Minister beforehand, though, and he called Frank.  Frank, of course, called here."

_Of all the days for Frank to be home with his family…_ Bill fought the urge to scream.  And of course, Avalon was not connected to the Floo Network.  The only fires that existed on the island were used for communication, and reconfiguring them as part of the Network would take days, if not weeks.  _What did the old timers do when they couldn't Apparate? _Bill thought with a growl of frustration.  _Swim?  _Suddenly, those old security concerns didn't seem like such a great idea.

"How many Death Eaters?" Hestia asked.

Kingsley shook his head.  "Frank didn't know.  Diagon Alley has been completely cut off."

"Damn," Bill breathed.  He was trying hard not to think about anything but the coming mission—contemplating the risks was dangerous, and the past was even more so.  _Concentrate, Weasley!_ he snapped at himself.  _This is no time to freeze!_

"It gets worse," Kingsley said quietly.

"Dare I ask?" For the first time, Hestia looked truly frightened.

"Sirius Black is there."

"Is he…?" Bill could not bring himself to finish the question.  He did not dare, did not want to think—and yet he remembered the Azkaban Raid, remembered seeing Sirius step around a corner and do the impossible.  That memorable day, he had seen the man who had been Voldemort's prisoner for ten years face the Dark Lord and survive.  Bill had not ever imagined someone doing that, not after his own experiences…and Sirius Black was the only hope they had.

"There is no way to know," Kingsley answered, swallowing.

Hestia growled.  "Not until we get there, anyway."

"Is Frank coming?"

"As soon as he can."

"Then let's make that _now_," Hestia interjected, raising her wand.  "Waiting makes me angry."  

Kingsley flashed her a cool smile.  "Everything makes you angry, Hestia."

"Let's just get this thing done," Bill interjected, focusing—

But nothing happened.

"_Damn!_" Hestia's curse summed it all up.  They were still stuck.

--------------

Spells scraped by on either side Remus as he ran, but miraculously, none of them hit.  There were a few close calls, and he felt like he had a deep burn on his right leg—but maybe having a werewolf sprint at her unnerved Bellatrix Lestrange.  Her usually accurate aim was failing, and for a moment, Remus thought he saw fear flash in her blue eyes.

_Dementors in the Hogwarts dungeons_—__

His stride faltered.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ she screeched. 

The fast reflexes of the wolf were all that saved him.  Remus threw himself aside, rolling and coming up in a crouch that reminded him painfully of Sirius—_Please let him be all right—_he threw up a creative shield that Lily had taught him, destroying her next spell.

Not far behind him, Dung was dueling with both Mulciber and Flint at the same time—but where had Malfoy gone?  Remus started to look over his shoulder, searching for the fourth Death Eater, but then Bellatrix's Decapitation Spell almost took his head off, and he had to focus on her.

Almost as soon as he had made that decision, a wave of power hit him in the back.  Remus sprawled forward, landing hard on his stomach.  The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and made his vision swim—but even as he landed, Remus found himself unable to concentrate on Bellatrix _or _Lucius.  Suddenly, their presence, their spells, seemed utterly pointless.  Meaningless.  Unimportant.  And he had almost forgotten why he was_ there_.

His sensitive ears picked up screaming.  _Sirius!_

There were times that the wolf was his curse, but sometimes it proved to be a blessing.  Like now.

Remus bounded to his feet just as Bellatrix took a curious step in his direction; two steps forward and they were almost face to face.  Thus, when he thrust his wand forward to cast a Stunner, there was no way that he could miss.  _"Stupefy!"_

Bellatrix fell with a resounding _thump_, collapsing just in time for Remus to jump over her now limp form.  Twisting in mid-stride, he aimed a quick curse in Lucius Malfoy's direction, but missed, and barely managed to avoid being roasted alive by the Death Eater's Incinerator Curse.  Remus sidestepped quickly, but miscalculated and caught his right ankle on Bellatrix's downed form and fell.  That accident, however, turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because green light flashed through the air in the exact spot where he had been a mere second before.

_"I'm going to have to betray you."_

_"Are you mad? Take the offer while you can!"_

A new cry of pain split the air, and Malfoy suddenly turned away, sprinting west towards the crossroads with Knockturn Alley.

--------------

"Now!" Kingsley suddenly shouted, making Bill jump.  But his reflexes kicked in quickly enough, and he raised his wand—

_"Look out!"  _Frank's voice rang out urgently, and Bill dove without thinking, completely trusting his friend and superior.  

Green light flashed.

"Goddamnit!" Hestia snarled from behind a trash bin.  "Where the hell did they come from?"

"Who cares?" Bill retorted, ducking as a jet of red light flashed overhead.  There was no appropriate cover, just a shoddy looking dumpster and a few scorched trash bins, but that was all the four Aurors had.  Frank could have only arrived seconds before the trio from Avalon, but it was good that he had.  Otherwise they might all have been dead.

So much for hoping that Knockturn Alley would be a place where they weren't expected to show up. 

"Get rid of them!" Frank ordered.

"How many are there?" Bill asked urgently, trying to pop his head up and almost losing it in the process.

"Three, I think," the senior Auror replied, sneaking his eyes up over the end of the dumpster long enough to get a look.  "_Diffindo__!_   Yes, that was Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Did you hit him?" Kingsley rumbled.

"I don't think"—Hestia's trash bins exploded, making Frank jump—"Damn, that was Snape!"

Bill worked his head around the dumpster's far end as Hestia rolled over to join the others.  _Why is it that we _always _end up hiding behind smelly dumpsters?_ he wondered distractedly.  "The other one is Macnair."

"Lovely."  He could tell that Hestia rolled her eyes just by the sound of her voice.

And then the screams started, and Bill found himself staring at Frank with wide eyes.  Those were screams that they both knew, both remembered, back from times that they would rather not recall.

"We don't have time for this!" Frank snarled, rolling away from the dumpster and firing off another curse.  Almost immediately, Rodolphus Lestrange yelped and collapsed.

But Snape almost took off Kingsley's head when the big Auror ventured out, and would have if Hestia hadn't dragged him down in time.  She shot off a nasty curse at the Potions Master, but missed, and Bill's Strike Spell was blocked easily.  Meanwhile, Frank had engaged an angry (but standing) Rodolphus Lestrange, and Kingsley shot after Macnair with a vengeance.  

The air fairly crackled with power as spells crisscrossed in the sky, and Bill dodged one of Snape's Imperius Curses with much more ease than he'd expected.  Unfortunately, the follow-on got through, and Bill could only be thankful that it hadn't been something fatal as he struggled to shake off the effects of a Conjunctivitis Curse.  Hestia jumped in the way, and as his vision reluctantly cleared, Bill could see her and Snape exchanging a flurry of curses—but oddly enough, unlike the other two duels, there were no green flashes.  The only potentially fatal curse that Bill could spot was Hestia's attempt at a Throat Cutting Spell, and that missed as Snape moved with far more agility than Bill would have thought he possessed.  He squinted at his old Potions Master.

_What are you playing at, Snape?_  Bill felt his eyes narrow.  Something was up.

_"Rumperis!"___

A new scream split the air as Frank's Bone-Breaker connected; Rodolphus Lestrange went down, clutching a suddenly shattered and bleeding arm to his chest.  His wand almost bounced free, but he caught it in his left hand, then there was a sudden _crack_ and he was gone.

The tide turned.

_"Evanescorpus!"_ Kingsley shouted, and as Bill's head snapped around, he saw the impossible happen—the Disintegration Spell hit Walden Macnair right in the chest, and the Death Eater simply ceased to exist.

Four against one, and a new screech split the air.  Dodging a Decapitation Spell from Hestia (unlike her opponent, she certainly wasn't hesitating to use fatal spells), Snape suddenly spun away.  For a split second, he presented his back as a beautiful target—but then Snape sprinted away.

Exchanging confused glances, the Aurors gave chase.

--------------

Sirius rolled to his feet and almost collapsed as pain ripped through his body.  Something besides ribs had broken, but there wasn't time to even start to consider what—he hardly even had the breath to bite back the scream that threatened to rise in his throat.  Unable to fully control his body, Sirius fell to his right knee as it buckled and refused to carry his weight, and heard it _crunch_ nastily.  He almost crumbled, and only caught himself with his right hand—_wand hand, damnit!—_before falling. Knowing that he did not have time to think, let alone fool around, Sirius wrenched his wand upwards and forced himself to his feet, pain or no.  

_"Brevisalvum Mali," _he hissed, and felt his body suddenly respond to his commands.

Bolting right, Sirius snapped his wand out and fired off a Stunner without bothering to aim.  Fiery pain shot through him, but his muscles and his limbs worked, and he didn't have time to consider how or what he'd broken.  Hell, he hardly had time to think at all—

Whatever else he was, Voldemort was no coward.  He threw off the Cruciatus quickly and whipped his wand around in a sweeping arc.  Dark light flashed—was _dark _light possible?—and Sirius barely dove out of the way in time.  Rolling right as his body screamed in agony, he came up into his dueling crouch as quickly as he could, and found that his right leg no longer wanted to work, Quick Heal or no.  Getting up was far harder this time than it had been the last, and Sirius struggled to keep from gasping for air against the rising tightness in his chest.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Control.  Breathe in.

Voldemort awaited him calmly, watching with unreadable red eyes.  Sirius might have thought him a statue had the slightest of smirks not creased his pale face, and—_This__ is getting bad.  _The silence in the street hurt to hear.  Hundreds of innocent eyes did naught but stare, and Sirius could sense their painful attempts at hope.  They watched him, and waited, praying for a miracle, believing that Sirius Black might give them one.  For a short moment, his mind rebelled—_What__ am _I _doing here?_  But he knew the answer, and he felt cold.  A graveyard would have been more cheerful.  And less deadly.

Sirius blocked an Imperius Curse almost without thinking, but his shield did not weather the impact.  He was weakening quickly, and knew it—the problem with silent magic was that it was far more exhausting to use than normal spells.  _I have to end this quickly, or _I _won't end this at all_.  Usually, Sirius depended upon mobility and speed to give him an advantage in any duel, but his body refused to cooperate, and he knew that he would have to be rooted to this spot—or fall over.

_Time to change the odds, then_.  A nasty grin split his face.  _I'll apologize to the Goblins later_.

_"Resiacio!"_ he shouted, and a screeching bang brought the front doors of Gringotts flying off the ground where they had previously fallen.  They spun through the air like an insanely twisting bludger, and avoided Voldemort's best efforts to blast them aside.  

The Dark Lord was too proud to throw himself aside, and Sirius actually thought they would hit—until the giant bronze doors disintegrated a few feet away from Voldemort's face.  _But…!_  It took great power to do so, and even as the Dark Lord turned to face him, Sirius _felt _the way the spell had drained his reserves.  The link still existed, he suddenly realized.  Muted and covered up and buried deep, but it _was still there!_

He did not give Voldemort a chance to recover.  _"Extundo!"_

Green light flashed even as the Hammer Curse hit his opponent full in the chest, making Voldemort stagger.  Sirius was forced to dive aside once again to avoid the Killing Curse, forced to ignore the stupidity of doing so.  He could hardly move fast enough to stand again—pain made his vision blur—but Sirius thrust his wand forward as soon as he'd come up into his crouch, and set a flurry of trash bins to attacking the Dark Lord.  Jumping to his feet, he prepared to fire off another spell—then staggered and almost fell.

Laughter echoed in his ears.  _"__Acervis__!"_

A whirlwind of power tore Sirius off of his feet and enclosed him in a swirling tornado of darkness.  Agony shot through his body; Sirius could not help screaming in pain as he hit the ground with a crash.  Bouncing off the street and unable to see through the sudden blackness, he let instinct guide his wand.

_"Incarcerous!"_

Bleeding and desperate, the curse got through.  Voldemort snarled in anger, and Sirius heard him stagger, but knew he did not go down.  Then the robes tore, and Sirius knew he was out of time.  But his eyes were still dark, still useless—and the triumph in the cold voice was unmistakable.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

_Shit!_

Unable to move in time, Sirius Apparated.  He had been lying helplessly in the crossroads of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, but wound up on his feet in front of the smoldering ruins of Florean Fortescue's.  Pain and exhaustion made him dizzy, but the unexpected escape had bought him precious moments to act.  Even as Voldemort spun to face him, Sirius shouted: _"Incendio!"_

The counter whipped out almost as quickly as the Auror had thought of the spell.  To make matters worse, Voldemort was not nearly as drained as he—the response was as deadly as it was silent, and Sirius barely stopped the Reductor Curse in time.  _"Everbero!"_

Block.  Disintergration Spell.

_"Protego!"_  Two burning steps.  _"Conteriaco!"_

Counter and Conjunctivitis Curse.  

Sirius sidestepped just in time.  _"Imperio!"___

It had worked in Azkaban, but did not now.  Voldemort shrugged the curse aside with ease, laughing.  Then he smiled, and Sirius read victory in his eyes.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ the Dark Lord thundered.

Sirius dove left, rolling and ignoring the protests of his battered body.  The street exploded, pelting him with smoking cobblestones and burning debris, but even as he rolled, Sirius realized that the Killing Curse was never meant to hit him.  Frantically, he twisted his aching limbs around, struggling to get to his feet before something else happened—

He made it to his knees, only to find himself looking straight at the point of Voldemort's wand.  Before he could even act, the cold words were spoken.

_"__Mors__ Extoum."___

---------------

  



	20. Chapter 20: Heartbeat

**Updated: 03 January 2005 to reflect the deletion of _Prelude to Promises.

* * *

_**

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

* * *

_Chapter Twenty: Heartbeat

* * *

_

There were moments of his ten year long imprisonment that Sirius could not remember at all. This, however, was not one of them.

This, he remembered.

Sirius was screaming, and the world held only pain.

The world had slipped out from under him, and his face had smacked against the cobblestones—his wand had bounced off someplace else, but he did not know where… All he knew was the pain. Somehow, he had collapsed as the fiery agony tore through him, and he felt his right hand instinctively grab for his left wrist—

Bad idea.

He screamed so loudly that he tasted blood. Maybe he'd bitten his tongue, maybe not—there was no time to care, no way to think, nothing to do or try or fight… There was only pain. He could not see, now, and could not even tell if his eyes were open. The pain controlled his movements, commanded his mind—all he knew was that his body was jerking and he was screaming and that he remembered what this was—

--------------

James would have paced had he been able. As life stood, he could only sit and stare at the far wall, sit and hopelessly stare. He'd incredulously received the call from Hagrid, had felt his jaw drop open in recognition of Voldemort's audacity—and had wished that he had felt more surprised. The timing and the location had startled him, but not the action…not now. They had all known _something _had to happen, and James had been waiting.

But what he had not expected was for it to be like this, for him to be stuck, helpless, while others did the work. Somehow, it had never entered the ex-Auror's mind that he would not be a part of the coming battle—that he _could _not be a part of that battle. Fighting Death Eaters was a risky and dangerous proposition at best, and when you couldn't move fast enough to avoid what you couldn't block…you were dead. Classical duels simply didn't happen during battles, and that was that. An Auror who could not move was a danger to his fellows. Period.

Yet, somehow, his mind had never taken his paralysis into account. James had always assumed that he'd be there to face Voldemort down—it was his _job_, damnit. He wasn't just a former Auror; he was the _Minister of Magic_. He was the one directing the damn war, and he was the one who had gotten them into this mess. It was his duty to be there.

And he couldn't.

James snarled, wishing that he could pace, wishing that he could do something, anything, to ease the tension. Duty wasn't the only thing eating at him, though that should have been enough by itself. No, the worst part about it all—he was almost ashamed to admit it, because he _was _the Minister of Magic and he _was _an Auror—was knowing that his best friends were in danger, and he couldn't do a damn thing to help them. Pain swelled up in his heart, and James bit his lip, trying and failing to force it away. Sirius was there—_does Voldemort know that? Did he plan this?_—and Remus had left to help him. Peter was out of the country, engrossed in rather tricky diplomatic negotiations. He had an excuse. James had none.

Except his legs. The damn legs that didn't work at all. "_Damnit__!"_

"They'll do fine, James." A hand landed on his shoulder, startling him; he hadn't meant to speak out loud. Air caught painfully in his chest, and he had to force himself to relax. Tensing up was instinctive, but there was no battle here.

"I hate being so helpless, Lily," he finally replied. "Sirius and Remus are in danger, and I'm just—"

"I know." She squeezed his shoulders, and James felt her body lean against his from behind. "But at least we can see some of it."

"Small consolation, that." James shot a doleful look at Project Guardian, which some strange chance of fate had brought to Grimmauld Place a week before, and Molly Weasley had somehow forgotten to take it home. Stranger things had happened, but…even seeing the names moving in Diagon Alley did not help.

Two names caught his eye, two that were right in the center of the area Lily had zoomed the map in on. Project Guardian couldn't show what was happening, but James thought it would show if someone died… He had to swallow again. _Not a good thought, Prongs._ Prongs. Never before had thinking that name brought pain.

But it did now. It did because of those two names at the center of Project Guardian—oh, he didn't give a damn about _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ No, it was the other that he prayed would not disappear. _Good luck, Sirius_, he thought silently, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, though, James spotted another name rushing towards the center of Diagon Alley and closing fast. _Remus Lupin._

_Run, Moony. Run fast._

--------------

Hard on the heels of Lucius Malfoy, Remus struggled to push his way through the nervously milling crowd. It was hard going; everyone wanted to get away, but no one wanted to run, and that left them standing in a muddled mass without purpose. The only consolation seemed to be that Malfoy was having the same problem, but Remus' mind was still whirling under the influence of unwanted visions—

_"Looks like it's just you and me, Peter."_

_Lee Jordan, face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange—_

Red light flashed. Someone screamed.

_The Dark Mark hanging over a house on a Muggle Street—_

Malfoy jumped over a twitching body.

The screams echoing in Remus' ears were not his imagination. And they weren't visions, either. The witch on the ground was screeching and convulsing, writhing madly as if it would free her from the Cruciatus Curse. Remus skidded to a stop at her side. He didn't have the time to waste—but he could not simply ignore her, either. Not unless he wanted to become one of them.

_"Finite Incantatum,"_ he said quickly, and she stopped screaming abruptly. So suddenly, in fact, that Remus thought she might have lost consciousness, but the moment that he tried to step over her body, she grabbed his ankle and he fell on top of her in a mess of limbs and wands and screeches.

"You evil Death Eater!" she screamed at him, bringing her oak wand around in an attempt to curse him. Unfortunately, she miscalculated and ended up stabbing it right into his left nostril—

"No, I'm not—"

"_DIE!_"

Remus barely managed to roll away from the sudden and uncontrolled blast of magical power. She hadn't cast a spell at him; her anger, fear, and pain had simply tried to fry him._ How nice,_ he thought with bitterness that he couldn't help. _I try to save her and she tries to kill me_.

She scrambled to her feet and towered over him. Remus blinked, staring up at her and wondering how in the world horribly ironic things like this always managed to happen to him—_Snape looking him in the eye._

_"I'm going to have to betray you."_

_"I know."_

It was the visions again, damn them. Dumbledore had been right; the Font was as much a curse as it was a blessing, even if it was a necessary burden. Rarely useful, rarely understood, all it really did was drive him crazy—_I don't have time for this!_ He didn't have time for anything, actually, and Sirius had even less. The screams he was hearing now did not come from the witch who so desperately wanted to kill him in thanks for saving her life.

Remus jumped to his feet, and without thinking, grabbed her wand in his left hand, ripping it free of her grip. The witch's wide eyes stared at him as soon as she managed to look up from staring at the ground—why was she still staring at where he had been? It was strange how no time seemed to have passed.

But he didn't have time for mysteries any more than he had time for stupid witches and rolling around on the ground. Remus threw her wand away and did not bother to see where it fell.

"I'm not a Death Eater," he snapped, and returned to pushing his way through the crowd. Malfoy was getting away, and Sirius needed him.

--------------

Tonks cast a baleful look at her surroundings, wishing that the nineteen faces looking back didn't seem so _wary_. They were staring at her in the same way a child looked at bean sprouts, and that wasn't pleasant in the slightest—or even a good metaphor. Biting her lip, she barely managed to keep herself from groaning out loud, and she _really _wished that she could just wander off into a corner until she figured out what to do with herself.

_What the hell was Weasley thinking? _she wanted to demand. _Leaving _me _in charge?_

"Uh, Tonks…?" Jason Clearwater began expectantly, and his raised eyebrows were identical to everyone else's. _Why didn't Weasley pick him? Jason would know exactly what to do_, she thought dejectedly. _He always does._

_Maybe that's the point_, a small corner of her mind noted, but Tonks swatted it away. The last thing she needed right now was to think too much. Doing so always, inevitably, got her in trouble.

She tried to glare at Jason, but it fell flat. "Yes?" Tonks finally asked, aware that she sounded peevish, but unable to care. _I hate this already_.

"So when do we leave?" His smile was blindingly white, and it made her blink. Something about the way Jason was looking at her made Tonks' skin crawl.

"Leave?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes just a little too late.

Clearwater looked at her in the same way he would study an intensely stupid child. "For Diagon Alley."

"Uh, didn't Weasley say to stay here?" Randall O'Keely interjected with a raised eyebrow. But Jason snorted before Tonks could reply.

"Of course he did. That's why we have to go."

"I beg your pardon?" Off to Tonks' right, Cornelia blinked.

This time, Tonks returned the favor and didn't bother to let Jason respond. "In case you've forgotten, we're _candidates_. We weren't only ordered to stay—we aren't trained enough to do anything, even if we did know the plan."

"Somehow, I doubt anyone has a plan other than getting the hell there as quickly as possible," Dana pointed out. But Tonks felt her eyes widen, and she could not help staring at her friend.

"You think we should go, then." She managed to keep her voice level, but just barely. _Dana too?_ She didn't want to look betrayed, didn't want to feel betrayed, but she did.

"No." Dana glanced at her in surprise. "Not at all."

"Oh." _Great, here I go, sticking my leg down my throat yet another time_. "Right." Tonks took a deep breath, then started. "All right. Weasley said that we need to post watches and keep the island safe, so—"

"So we stand here and parrot his orders until they all _die_?" Calvin Waters asked, making the others all jerk back in surprise. Even though a few of them might have agreed with Jason's argument, Calvin's abrupt way of putting it shocked them. Disagreements were one thing; outright antagonism was another, and it made Tonks' temper finally snap.

"And what would you have us do?" she demanded furiously. "Apparate to Diagon Alley and die with them—or worse yet, obstruct whatever plan they have, and get our instructors killed? _We _are not Aurors, Calvin! There is a reason why we are still in _training_."

"Yes, training." He rolled his eyes. "Training. Training to be _decisive_. Training to act. To fight. To—"

"To follow orders when we have to, even if we don't like them," Tonks interrupted him, glaring. "D'you think I like this any better than you do? D'you think that I _want _to sit here and wait? But we can't do anything other than make things worse, and I refuse to do that."

"I think you're afraid."

"Now, that's enough!" Surprisingly, Jason intervened, grabbing Calvin by the arm and shaking. "I think just like you do, but no one here is a coward. And if we do act, we have to do so now. We've already wasted enough time arguing."

Tonks felt her eyes narrow. If there was one thing she had learned through being a part of the massively dark Black family, it was to fight for what she believed in. "There is no argument. We stay."

"Not if—"

"Unless you have a plan for getting out of here other than Apparation, it's not going to happen," Horace suddenly said, making every head turn.

"Huh?" For once, Jason was taken aback.

Horace gestured, his face unusually drawn. "The Apparation Area. There's a wall between us and it."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Calvin demanded.

"Have you ever been there?" Horace replied, earning himself blank stares from everyone except for Tonks. As exhausting as training was, the majority of the candidates spent all of their spare time sleeping, studying, or practicing—only Horace and Tonks liked to explore. Together, they had covered the entire island, even wandering into places where they knew they shouldn't be: the combination of an inquisitive former Ravenclaw and a sneaky former Slytherin meant that they could sneak almost anywhere, and they never got caught.

_Except for that once, but Weasley let us off easily._ She resisted the urge to grin at the thought. The others wouldn't understand at all.

"Of course I haven't been there," Calvin scoffed.

"Well, I have. And so has Tonks," Horace replied reasonably. "You can't get in unless the 'walls' are keyed to admit you—and I'm willing to bet that you can't Apparate _out_, either, unless you're a full Auror. Regardless, that's what Tonks was trying to tell you, if you'd have bothered listening."

"Exactly." _Well, it's what I would have said if I'd remembered to, anyway. _"We can't leave."

Jason's brown eyes narrowed, but he nodded in Tonks' direction, silently conceding this round to her, yet letting her know that it was in no way the end of the fight. "Well," he sighed. "I guess we might as well be thankful that some of our classmates enjoy wandering around after hours."

"I still think we should try it," Calvin replied.

"No. Tonks is right." The smile he flashed her wasn't nearly as friendly as it could be, and Tonks saw Dana bristle. "We've got watches to set and an island to secure. Let's get to work."

--------------

Screams echoed off the walls, and the crowd pushed back into itself, struggling to back away from whatever horrors Voldemort had unleashed. There had been a sudden silence, and Molly had heard two words, but they were not ones she recognized. From inflection alone she had known that they had to be a spell, but what did "Mors Extoum" _mean?_ What had he done?

Molly was too short to see through the crowd, but she heard Sirius screaming. She did not know for sure how she knew it was Sirius, but it _had _to be—and he was screaming like a dying man, screaming like someone beyond sanity. The crowd shifted, terrified, but Molly could feel the sick curiosity that permeated the group. They wanted to see, wanted to know, wanted to…wanted to what? She did not know, but knew that none of them would run. No one would flee, not until the end, even though the Anti-Apparation Fields were down.

Even though she'd shouted herself hoarse trying to tell them to escape, no one was going to leave until this was over. She knew that now. The crowd was drawn to this battle by the same thing that drew her—the knowledge that the fate of their world hung in the balance.

For a moment, she wondered if Percy was somewhere in the crowd. A effort to see over the heads of those surrounding her proved futile, even when she stood high on her toes, and Molly had to force back worry for her son. While she knew—or rather, prayed—that Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were safe (along with Harry and Hermione, of course)—Percy hadn't been in the bookstore with them. Uncharacteristically, he had hurried through buying his school books, and then promised to meet them in an hour, saying that he had to purchase something else for someone. When pressed, her quietest son had only blushed and mumbled, and Molly had let him go, chuckling to herself. At the time, she had reflected that Percy was the one and only Weasley that she could be trusted to stay out of trouble, anyway.

But now trouble had found them, and Percy might be in danger. Knowing that hurt enough, but being unable to do anything—and unable to even shake free of the panicky crowd—only made things worse. Molly had done her part; she had brought the Anti-Apparation Fields down. Now she just wanted to be a mother, and to protect her children.

Molly swallowed hard, and the screams continued.

--------------

"Watch yourself, Harry," Ginny grumbled. "You wouldn't want to put your foot in my mouth."

"Oh. Sorry." Harry blinked furiously; looking through his glasses was beginning to be like trying to see through a cloud of dust. "Was that your mouth?"

"No, it was my left elbow," she replied dryly, making him chuckle despite the tension. To Harry's right, though, Ron was much less amused.

"Did you have to pick such a small place to hide?" he complained, glaring at his older brothers.

Hermione sneezed. "I have to agree. Isn't there somewhere…cleaner?"

"Of course there is," Fred replied promptly.

"Only if you don't mind the Death Eaters and the blood. They're really just there for effect—I hear they do wonders for the decor," George added.

"George!" Ginny glared at him, but both twins ignored her, turning serious.

"Think of it this way, Hermione," Fred continued. "If you don't like this little hole, odds are the Death Eaters won't like it either."

"And Death Eaters have a lot better things to do than crawling around underneath Quality Quidditch Supplies," the other finished.

"Is that where we are?" Ron asked, even as Hermione sighed under her breath.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny demanded.

"Oh, not you, too." Hermione groaned, making the twins laugh.

"Yes, Hermione. You are officially the only non-Quidditch fanatic in this…whatever it is," George gloated.

"Hole," Fred supplied.

"Yes, hole. That is the word I was looking for."

"Will you two be _quiet_?" Hermione hissed. "At the rate you're going, someone is going to hear us."

George snorted. "Speak for yourself. With the way the two of you are arguing, it's a wonder we're not all dead already."

"We weren't arguing—" she objected even as Ron growled,

"You _want_ to be dead?"

"That was really lame, Ronniekins," Fred grinned.

"And you—"

"_Shhh__!"_ Suddenly, it was Ginny, who was wearing a pair of glasses that Harry had never seen before. "Someone's coming!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I can see them, that's why," she whispered. "Now _shut up_, Ron."

Dumbfounded, Ron fell silent, leaving Harry to wonder if he'd ever heard 'little' Ginny speak in such a commanding tone of voice. Harry certainly hadn't; but then again, he hadn't known her all that long. Now, however, Ginny was their eyes—Harry guessed that it had something do to with the glasses, but there was no way to know.

She finally let out a relieved breath. "Oh. It's just the storekeeper and a few others," she whispered. "No Death Eaters."

The pounding in Harry's ears lessened to a dull roar, and he let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding. Everyone was quiet for a long moment, trying to calm racing hearts and pretend that they weren't afraid, and Harry let out a long breath before asking quietly, "You can see them?"

"With the glasses." Ginny nodded. "Dumbledore gave them to me."

"Nice," Ron breathed.

"Very nice," Fred agreed. "Unless you use them to watch your brothers through the walls, of course."

"That's disgusting, Fred." Ginny rolled her eyes, and Harry found himself grinning.

"Speaking of disgusting," George said suddenly, "You can see the Death Eaters, right?"

"Sort of. I can see through walls, but the glasses only work for a certain distance. I _can't _see any Death Eaters, which means none of them are close," she replied.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said quietly.

"Definitely," Ron agreed. "That means we can get out without being seen."

Harry's head snapped around so fast that his neck hurt. He gaped at his friend. "What?"

"That means we can get out and help," Ron said.

"Help who?" Hermione demanded.

"Why, Sirius, of course. And Mum. And everyone else." Fred nodded emphatically. "We have to do something."

Harry felt his chest clench into a knot. "We can't."

The others turned to stare at him, even Hermione—Harry wasn't known for being careful, or cautious, or not taking risks. He'd always had a habit of charging into situations without pausing to evaluate the dangers involved; poor Hermione was always holding him back, and even that didn't work very well. But today was different, and he had a rock stuck in his stomach.

"We can't," he repeated quietly. "Do you realize what Sirius is doing out there? Do you realize what he's risking?"

"Yes, and that's the point," Ron said urgently. "We can't just sit here—we need to help."

Hermione shook her head to cut Ron off before he could continue. "What are you saying, Harry?"

He sucked in a deep breath and then took the plunge. "I'm saying that there is nothing we _can _do." Harry couldn't believe that he was even _thinking _these words, let alone saying them. His voice dropped to a whisper. "We're kids."

"We can still help. _Anyone _can help," George argued.

"No." Harry shook his head. "Not today. He killed Dumbledore, remember? Killed countless others…what good can we do, other than be next?"

Ron stared at him, aghast. "Harry…?"

"Are you alright?" Fred asked. "You sound…"

"Strange, I know." But Harry could only shrug. "But I think, I _know,_ that this isn't a battle that we are meant to fight. I don't think that anyone is. Except Sirius."

"He's facing Voldemort, Harry," Ron pointed out nervously.

"I know. And I hate it, too." Harry swallowed. "But we can't help."

Hermione suddenly nodded in quiet agreement. "All we can do is hurt."

"I hate doing nothing," he admitted. "But Sirius wanted us to stay safe. The least we can do is make sure that he doesn't have to worry about us, too."

--------------

He could hear their breathing behind him. It was steady and controlled, despite the breakneck pace he was setting, and Snape grimaced as he realized that at least three of his pursuers were younger than he was, and _all _of them were undoubtedly in better physical shape. But he'd never been an athlete. He'd never needed to be.

And the damnedest part of it all was that he needed every bit of athleticism that he possessed to run from people he was trying desperately to save. _Idiots!_ He wanted to scream that back over his shoulder at them, wanted to tell them that he was on _their _bloody side, for Merlin's sake! But doing so wouldn't have helped, even if they did believe him—it would probably only end up with them all dead, despite his best efforts.

_Just my luck. I manage _not _to kill any of them, then try to lead them to where they can actually do some _good_, and one of them will probably hex me from behind because I run too damn slow!_ Snape was surprised to find himself laughing bitterly. But he stopped immediately; laughing and running were, apparently, not a good combination.

_I'm too old for this shit._

Something exploded to his right, and he thought it was the Giant Spider Shop, but there was no time to look. Someone had missed his head by an inch or so, for which he was exceedingly not grateful. _Probably Jones, _he thought clinically. _She always was the impatient type._ Almost immediately after the thought crossed his mind, Snape heard her voice shouting:

_"Stupefy!"_

He barely dodged in time, and ended up bouncing off the wall where Knockturn Alley bended left to meet with Diagon Alley. Snape hit the wall, rolled right, and jumped to his feet as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed was to be killed by one of his own allies—and it was a rather flimsy excuse to think that she was only trying because she didn't know. At the moment, minor details did not matter at all to Snape. All that mattered was staying alive long enough to let the idiotic Aurors do their jobs.

One step later, he froze.

---------------

**Updated: 03 January 2005 to reflect the deletion of _Prelude to Promises._**


	21. Chapter 21: The Price of Freedom

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Price of Freedom**

An ordinary man would have expected the blackness to recede, but Sirius had no such illusions. He knew better. He knew what _this_ was.

How long had he been screaming? His throat was already raw, and he had lost all sense of time. Sirius thought that he had blacked out for a moment, but there was no way to be sure—the pain made him feel divorced from the present, stuck in the past and utterly helpless. It was as if ten years of hell had wrapped their fiery arms around Sirius and were squeezing the life out of him. For a long time, it felt like nothing had changed, and all he could do was scream.

But awareness slowly crept back in. Somehow, despite the pain, he was beginning to remember. Within those memories were many things that he would rather _not_ recall, of course, but there were others, too. There was more. Sirius would never know if it was because of willpower or something different, but then the burning blackness began to fade.

He lay on the ground, struggling for air and tasting blood. Merlin only knew where his wand was; it had flown somewhere when he collapsed, when he did not care. His body was shaking erratically, and it felt heavy, _tainted_, and weak. Sirius felt every breath burn in his chest as his broken ribs objected to the strain, but he felt the pain in his soul even more acutely. He felt cold.

Footsteps approached, slow and measured, controlled and triumphant. A corner of Sirius' mind screamed that the footsteps were bad, and that he had to act—but his body would not listen. All it would do was shake and convulse, and it took all the strength he had to blink the tears out of his eyes. Suddenly, he wanted the blackness. He wanted the cushion it provided, wanted to hide from the rest of the world. Sirius yearned for peace, for quiet…and he wanted to let the coldness take him, even though he knew that was not the answer.

A booted foot contacted with his ribs and he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. Pain flared as he was pushed over to his back, but Sirius didn't even bother to focus. Somehow, he could not bring himself to fight. The fiery arms of darkness had wrapped their arms around him and it was _over_.

Cold laughter made him blink instinctively. Slowly, the Dark Lord came into focus, first as a blurry shape, then as a dark outline with burning red eyes. He stood over Sirius with a mocking smile, his wand pointed directly at the other's heart.

"What was it that you told me, Black?" he asked amicably. "Oh, I remember. You said that I _did not own you_."

A satisfied grin split the frightening face, and all Sirius could do was stare as his soul recoiled in horror. His body was made of lead; it would not move. He looked up helplessly, feeling the coldness worm its way into his soul and unable to stop it. Voldemort laughed.

"I do own you, Sirius," he said. "I own your heart, body, mind, and soul."

In the distance, someone moaned, but by the time Sirius realized the significance, it was too late. He tried to speak, to object with half a heart to the Dark Lord's words, but all that came out was a helpless croak. And then everything happened at once.

Moving too quickly for eyes to follow, Voldemort bent down, and Sirius felt a cold hand close around his left wrist. Pain flared from his arm, and coldness, such coldness—he screeched in pain. For a terrifying moment, his vision went completely black, and all he felt was pain, pain and harsh darkness.

The Dark Lord possessed strength that was hidden by his slim form. When Sirius' eyes finally began to function again, he found that Voldemort had hauled him upright and forced him to his knees. The cold hand was like iron on Sirius' burning forearm, but he struggled to hold the pain inside. Then the hand squeezed hard, making him scream again. His throat burned.

"Look, all of you!" the Dark Lord shouted. "Look at your so-called hero!"

Slowly, Sirius forced himself to open his eyes, and he blinked dizzily, unable to even contemplate fighting. His mind was a whirlwind mess of agony and coldness, of darkness… Voldemort's laughter echoed loudly in his ears.

Only then did Sirius remember the crowd. His blurred vision picked up faces, features, terrified looks and tense figures. They were staring at him every bit as helplessly that he was staring back, except he was supposed to be _their_ protector. He was supposed to fight—and he had fought. But he had been defeated, and now the innocent souls who had been trapped in Diagon Alley would watch him fall.

"Look at what he bears!"

A horrified moan tore through the crowd, and Sirius knew what they saw. Even without ever having actually seen it, he knew—and he could not bear to look. Ignoring it would change nothing, but looking at it would not either.

Frightened whispers spread the word. Yes, that _was _what they thought it was, and yes it was real. Sirius could feel the blood dripping down his forearm, and knew that _it_ was real this time, not hidden like it had been for the past four years. Even if the crowd had not reacted with such fear and horror, he would have felt the difference. This was not the dark weight that had been chained to his soul for so long. This was hell itself come to claim him. Someone screamed, pointing, but still Sirius did not look down. He did not need to. He knew what they saw.

They saw the Dark Mark, burning red and angry upon his forearm, bleeding as if it had been cut in with a knife. They saw Voldemort's brand on him, the symbol under which he had waged war on innocents for almost twenty years. And unknowingly, they saw the stain upon his soul, the dark secret Sirius had carried with him ever since his escape from Azkaban.

Voldemort squeezed again, and Sirius screamed, his body convulsing against the Dark Lord.

"Not so strong now, are you, old friend?" the voice whispered in his ear.

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, not even knowing how he was going to reply, but was cut off when the cold fingers tightened on the Mark. Helplessly, Sirius screamed again.

"You were almost a hero," Voldemort continued cheerily. "Almost their savior. You were so close…" he chuckled. "So close."

Suddenly, the rounded point of a wand dug into his neck. For some reason, Sirius had not been expecting it, and it made him tense. "You were almost the ideal hero. Always so courageous. Always so strong." The wand twisted, making Sirius gasp. "But not any more.

"Now you will die. And you will do so on _my _terms, while they watch their only hope _break_."

"I haven't broken," Sirius rasped, finally finding his voice.

A soft laugh. "You will."

"Nev—"

He screamed as hard fingers tightened on his arm once more, and felt the darkness rise to meet his defiance. It felt as if Voldemort's cold hands were gripping his soul, and Sirius fought back, even though he knew it was pointless. The analogy came closer to the truth than Sirius would have thought possible.

A long moment passed, as the pain ripped through his body and the freezing darkness warred for control of his soul. Sirius knew not how long it was, only that the agony robbed him of strength, of vision, of will to resist…but something deep inside him simply acknowledged those losses and drove on. He was gasping for air amid screams of pain, but Sirius suddenly knew that he had to act. With a wand pressed to his neck and a burning hand on his throat, there was no way to move, there was no chance—_Sounds just like the rest of my life. Fighting an uphill battle against hopeless odds_.

The bitter thought cleared his mind, and as Voldemort loosened his grip on Sirius' arm, the Auror acted almost without thinking.

He shot to his feet and spun left, forcing his battered body to move through the weakness and the pain. His wind was shattered and his limbs unresponsive; Sirius knew that he only had one chance, and he could not afford to waste it. Feeling him twist, Voldemort reacted quickly—but not quickly enough. He was still thinking in terms of magic, and though the Dark Lord's hand tightened on Sirius' arm and agony tore through him, momentum carried Sirius through. His right hook caught Voldemort square in the face.

They both fell backwards, Voldemort reeling as blood spurted from his nose, and Sirius collapsing in pain. Finally free, the Auror rolled right on instinct, ignoring the way his body tried to object. There wasn't time to think. There wasn't even time to feel. There was only time to act.

His fingers closed on wood. Dark wood, to be exact: twelve inches of ebony with a phoenix feather core, wood he knew well. Holding onto it for dear life, Sirius rolled into his dueling crouch, feeling his broken ribs scream and pain shoot up his back from something else. But there was not time for pain.

Red light flashed through the air before he'd even started to think of a spell—and it was not a spell, per se, just a personification of his pain, rage, and fear. The flash of light was like a child's uncontrolled magic, raw and unintentional, but dangerous all the same. The light took Voldemort high in the chest and knocked him back several feet; the Dark Lord landed hard on his back, leaving Sirius to maliciously hope that he'd broken something. But his opponent scrambled up quickly, blood streaming form his broken nose and eyes burning with fury.

If there was one thing Sirius was sure that no one else had ever done, it was punching Lord Voldemort in the face.

For a split second, he grinned, but the humor of the moment faded when he had to throw himself out of the way of a killing curse. His body burning, Sirius shot off a reply, but it was of no use—he was too slow and too weakened. It was only a matter of time, now. There was no denying what years of training made clear. He could play cat and mouse with Voldemort for a few minutes, but the outcome was assured.

Sirius rolled again, wishing that his body would move faster as he caught the edge of an Imperius Curse and had to waste precious seconds countering its muted affects. A hasty shield barely managed to block whatever Voldemort threw at him—_what _was _that, anyway?_—and then Sirius staggered out of his crouch and to his feet.

_"Extundo!" _he bellowed, desperate to get through before his body collapsed. Sirius knew that he only had minutes to waste, knew that despite the pain and the Dark Mark, the Quick Heal Spell was still in effect and it would not last much longer. Without it, though, he would have been unable to move, and Sirius knew it.

The Hammer Curse ate through the Dark Lord's shield and struck, made stronger by Sirius' determination and pain. It struck Voldemort hard enough to make him sway but not fall, and Sirius gritted his teeth. That had very nearly been the best he had to offer, and it hadn't even knocked his opponent off of his feet. His body felt like it was moving in slow motion compared to Voldemort, and Sirius barely blocked the retaliation curse. _I'm fading fast,_ he realized. _My lack of focus is going to kill me._

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about that, either.

Suddenly, Voldemort's wand ripped around, sending silver chains swirling in Sirius' direction. For a moment, the dizzy Auror was mesmerized by the shiny and twisting links, but his instincts screamed warning just in time, and he dodged to the right, almost collapsing in the process. A desperate and badly aimed Disintegration Curse missed the chains entirely, then he managed to connect with a Blasting Curse that tore the chains into pieces. Then a Strike Spell hit him full on and sent Sirius sailing backwards.

Something cracked when he hit the ground, and Sirius wondered if it might not be another rib or something more important. But he was almost beyond pain, and he hauled himself upright once again, staggering and barely lifting his wand in time to block a Reductor Curse. Dizzy and trying to blink his way out of the vortex he'd wandered into, Sirius took one unsteady step to the right and immediately regretted it. The world spun, and he almost fell, stumbling to keep his balance.

_"Imperio!" _Voldemort thundered, and Sirius could not move in time. Immediately, he was enveloped in warmth, and the pain went away—

_No!_ His tattered soul had not given up yet, and somehow he managed to throw the curse aside.

_"Conteriaco!"_ he shouted, staggering again.

Voldemort blocked it with ease, but then all hell broke loose.

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Imperio!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Everbero!"_

A light show flashed in the sky, and the only thing that saved Sirius from the Killing Curse was the fact that his right knee had once again refused to support his weight and collapsed out from under him. The crowd screamed and shifted with sudden terror, no longer paralyzed by the duel as they had been. Several people in its front ranks flew without warning, and Sirius saw one fly several feet as if pushed by an invisible giant. Then red light flashed from behind the Dark Lord, and a familiar voice cried:

"Look out!"

Snape. How lovely. More Death Eaters were exactly what Sirius needed, and if he hadn't been doomed before, he certainly was now. And then from his left, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the crowd, rushing towards Sirius—it was his Killing Curse that had almost connected, the Auror realized belatedly, and forced himself to his feet once more. But he didn't dare turn to face Malfoy—doing so would expose his back to Voldemort, and that meant certain death.

Without warning, another flash of red light came from behind the Dark Lord, and Sirius saw the edge of Snape's robes catch fire where the curse almost connected. The Death Eater dove out of Knockturn Alley, then, with Frank Longbottom, Bill Weasley, Hestia Jones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt right on his heels.

Sirius would have cheered if doing so wouldn't have taken up so much energy. How the Aurors had gotten there, how they had known, did not matter at the moment—Sirius was no longer facing this alone, and that was what counted. For the first time, he even started to think he might survive the day.

Malfoy targeted him again, though, and Sirius barely blocked it in time, half-turning to face the Death Eater even as his broken—it was definitely broken—right knee tried to collapse again. But even as he moved, Voldemort fired another curse at him, and Sirius jumped back without thinking. Landing, however, proved to be impossible, and he fell again. He landed on his knees just in time to see Malfoy take aim once more.

A jet of light hit Malfoy between the shoulder blades, and the Death Eater fell right on his face. Remus jumped over the prone body without missing stride.

"Sirius!" Remus' wand pointed at his head, and Sirius immediately threw himself to the ground as red light flashed over him. Although he could not see it, Sirius could tell from the noise that his friend's spell had hit Voldemort, infuriating the Dark Lord.

Remus reached his side even as Sirius rolled to his knees once more. "I've never been so glad to see you," Sirius rasped, taking the offered hand and glad for the help. He doubted that he could stand on his own.

"You always were the trouble maker," Remus replied with a tight smile just as movement caught Sirius' eye.

"Get down!"

He did not wait for his friend to comply; Sirius simply let his body collapse and dragged Remus down with him, watching green light flash overhead yet again. Mulciber and Flint had chased Remus through the crowd, and Dung Fletcher was right behind them. Sirius fired off a spell and saw it hit Flint, but the pair kept coming—and he had been aiming at Mulciber.

"This just keeps getting better and better," he snarled. Speaking made his chest burn.

"Stay down." Remus jumped to his feet and engaged the pair of Death Eaters.

"Like hell." Sirius managed to force himself into his old crouch, and hoped that no one noticed that that was as far as he could get.

"Sirius—"

"No time for that." He grabbed Remus' arm and dragged _him_ into a crouch just in time to keep another curse from hitting his friend. Malfoy was back on his feet again, but the curse hadn't come from him.

_Damn_.

Another half turn brought him face to face with Voldemort once again, and the Dark Lord was firing off curses rapidly, not seeming to care who he hit. As Sirius watched, helpless and trying to shake off the vertigo, three people in the crowd went down, dead. _All because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time._ Fury suddenly cleared his vision.

_"Everbero!"_ he shouted, and watched the Strike Spell hit hard, blasting Voldemort straight back into Snape. But the Death Eater/spy/_Why are you _always _in the right place at the right time?_ reacted quickly enough to keep the Dark Lord from falling.

Cold red eyes focused on Sirius alone. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

He threw himself aside, rolling purposefully into Remus so that the curse didn't miss him and take out his friend instead. Remus yelped in surprise and cobblestones exploded, pelting both of them with rubble. Sirius twisted painfully, sending himself in the opposite direction as soon as he could—he last thing he needed was for Voldemort to target the two of them _together_, in which case he would undoubtedly hit at least one. But another curse did not come, and as Sirius gasped for air, he noticed that the street had grown strangely quiet.

Slowly, he lifted his head, and realized that Voldemort was gone. Malfoy, Mulciber, Flint, and Snape were gone, too—it was over. It was well and truly over.

Sirius hauled himself to his knees again—well, to one knee; his right did not want to respond at all. For the first time, he noticed the smoke in the air, the holes gouged in the street, and the smell of burning wood and flesh. Flames still danced in the burned-out remnants of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and the fire had spread east to the magical instruments shop where it was currently in the process of lazily eating at the roof. Hapless pedestrians wandered to and fro, completely ignoring the flames despite the fact that any one of them could have extinguished the fire with a spell. Many of them sported burns or bruises of some sort, and Sirius could see the outline of several charred bodies that hadn't escaped before Fortescue's had exploded.

People were beginning to move around. As Sirius stared at the gaping entrance of Gringotts', which looked strangely like a mouth without its outside doors, the silver inside doors opened, and a large group came creeping out. They looked around nervously, taking in the carnage with wide and frightened eyes. Several people pointed in his direction, but Sirius could not bring himself to care.

"Sirius?" It was Remus, who towered over him like some strange goliath. Sirius blinked and turned his head slowly, blinking as colors started to run together.

"Yeah." He managed a half smile. It was the best he could do.

His left arm was still throbbing, sending continuous waves of fiery pain through his body. The rest of his aches and pains had formerly seemed pale in comparison, but now they were beginning to be felt with a vengeance, and Sirius could feel each broken bone shifting with every breath he took. Still, he was almost numb, and he knew that the pain wasn't as bad as it could be.—or as bad as it would get. He was coming down off of an adrenaline high, Sirius realized, and the combination of that and the Quick Heal Spell was why he could still force himself to move.

"Can you stand?" Remus asked quietly.

"I think so." Sirius took a deep breath, and willed his vision to stop swimming. "But not for long. I used a Quick Heal," he explained. "I probably have fifteen minutes before it wears off.

"All right." Remus frowned worriedly, but he kept his peace. "Here." He offered a hand to help Sirius up, which the Auror took gratefully.

"Thanks, Moony." Sirius winced despite himself, trying not to breathe hard. The crowd was creeping closer.

"You're a mess, mate," his friend replied.

The sudden need to cough assaulted him, but Sirius held it back. He had no idea what coughing would feel like, and had no desire to find out. "No kidding."

Gingerly, Sirius tested his right leg out, and found that it felt surprisingly numb. Unresponsive, yes, but more numb than painful, which he immediately took as a bad sign. The only time his leg had ever acted like this was when he'd escaped from Azkaban, putting enormous amounts of strain on an already broken bone. Sirius sighed to himself. _I've got to stop doing this to myself._ Quickly approaching footsteps made him look up from his futile stare at his leg, and Sirius forced a half smile. The Aurors, led by Frank Longbottom, stopped directly between Sirius and the crowd.

"I was going to ask if you were all right, but I can see the answer," Frank said quietly.

"I've been better, yeah," Sirius replied, gently pulling away from Remus' supporting grip. His friend shot him a worried glance. "I'm okay."

Frank's eyes scanned the crowd. It was amazing how well only three Aurors could keep curious onlookers back. "What do you want us to do?"

Sirius almost asked why in the world _he _should know, but he stopped himself. Like it or not, Sirius was the head of the Aurors, and, despite his own desires on the subject, was also the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. It was the first time in decades that the two jobs had been combined, but the Ministry wasn't exactly at its best. He let out a quiet breath.

"Coordinate damage control," he finally said. "Get a hold of James and have him send someone from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—hopefully not Fudge or Umbridge—and get their help dealing with this. Also, see if you can't get any volunteers to help clean up this rubble and put the fires out."

He took a deep breath. "Anyone who doesn't want to volunteer goes home. Period. Clean the whole area out, except for shopkeepers, volunteers, and Ministry employees. You also might want to bring the candidates here to help."

"Right." Frank nodded immediately. "I'll also have Alice contact all the active Aurors and send them here."

"Good idea." Sirius coughed, and felt ribs rattle around in his chest. For a moment, the world spun, and he thought that he might fall, but his vision cleared after a few seconds, leaving him with a familiar lightheaded feeling. The Quick Heal was beginning to wear off.

Frank saw it, too. "I suggest you head to Avalon," he said quietly. "It's the only place we know for sure is safe."

"I agree." Oh, he hated to hide, but Sirius knew he had to. Remus, however, frowned.

"You need to go to St. Mungo's, Sirius."

"I can't." Slowly, he turned to look his friend in the eye, speaking softly. "I won't endanger anyone else, Remus, and if he chases me there, I won't stand a chance."

For a long moment, Remus studied his face. Finally, though, he nodded. "Be careful, Padfoot."

"I will."

"I'll see what I can't do to help here," the other continued, turning to look at Frank. "I assume that you can use another hand?"

"Most definitely," Longbottom replied emphatically. Then he looked over his shoulder and called, "Bill!"

Weasley jogged up, leaving Shacklebolt and Jones to deal with the now-inquisitive crowd—which included, Sirius noticed, several reporters. Including Rita Skeeter. _Oh, joy._

Weasley's green eyes flickered over Sirius for a moment, and he winced slightly. Sirius wished that he wouldn't, but the younger man had already had his share of encounters with Voldemort, so he held back the remark he might have otherwise made. Bill looked at Frank. "Yes?"

"Go back to Avalon with Sirius," the senior instructor ordered. "Bring fifteen of the candidates back with you and leave the other five to keep the island secure."

"Got it." Bill glanced at Sirius just as the world tried to take another spin. "Can you Apparate?" he asked quietly.

He gritted his teeth. "I can if we leave soon."

"Then let's not waste time."

"That's the best idea I've heard all—"

"Mr. Black!" a voice suddenly shouted. "_Sirius!_"

"Hey! Get back here, you!" Hestia Jones was right on Skeeter's tail, but the ugly witch was sprinting towards Sirius. Another reporter tried to follow her, but was dissuaded by Kingsley's bulk and nasty glare.

Skeeter rushed forward, waving her Quick Quotes Quill in the air like a sword. She only stopped when faced with three raised wands—everyone in the small group had pointed one at her, except for Sirius. And he definitely would have done so if he hadn't been so damn tired. She glared, then opened her mouth to bombard them with questions.

Longbottom got in first. "Can we help you?" he grated.

"Well, no." Skeeter gave him a nasty look. "_You _can't."

Sirius resisted the urge to groan. Bill didn't.

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask your questions another time," Remus interjected before tempers could fly. He lowered his wand, and after a long moment, Frank and Bill followed suit.

"I'm afraid that I don't have any questions for _you_, Remus Lupin," Skeeter retorted imperiously. "Although at another time, I might be interested in asking Hogwarts' elusive werewolf about any accidents involving the student body."

Remus didn't even blink, but she smiled nastily at him anyway, then turned her attention to Sirius.

"I was just leaving." He returned her nasty smile, aware that his was tight with pain, but unable to care.

"But—"

"Maybe in another lifetime," he cut her off rudely, then turned to Bill. "You ready?"

"Let's go."

Raising his wand, Sirius closed his eyes and concentrated on Avalon.

  


---------------

  



	22. Chapter 22: The Results of Defiance

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Results of Defiance

Apparating, it turned out, was not a good idea. It took less than a second to travel from Diagon Alley to Avalon; nevertheless, Sirius had ample time to experience a wide range of physical sensations, none of which were good. By the time he did reach the Aurors' island, his head was spinning dizzily and his stomach was attempting to fold in on itself. He staggered drunkenly, managing to forget where he was and what he was doing until his weight shifted onto his right leg and pain spiked up from the shattered knee.

Sirius caught himself and fought back the urge to scream. At least they were alone in the Apparation Center, and Bill Weasley knew all about pain.

"Do you need help?" the younger Auror asked quietly, too sensible to bother with pointless questions like 'are you okay?'. Sirius grimaced.

"Not yet," he replied with grim honesty. "But if we don't get me somewhere soon, I'm going to collapse when the Quick Heal wears off." And that was the understatement of the century.

"Right." Bill hauled the inner door open. "Let's go then."

Nodding, Sirius hobbled out into the sunlight, willing his right hand to stop before it could grab ahold of his throbbing left forearm. That wouldn't help, he knew, and it certainly wouldn't hide anything. For a moment, he considered trying to lengthen his sleeve to cover the Mark—but no. Sirius was far too drained to even attempt that simple spell, and his robes were far too tattered to stretch that far without one.

Besides, hiding would not change anything.

"I noticed that all four of the instructors came to Diagon Alley," he commented, mainly to distract himself from impending collapse. "Who'd you leave in charge?"

Bill's answering smile was lopsided. "Your cousin, actually."

"Oh?" Despite himself, Sirius felt his eyebrows rise. "How did she do?"

"Don't know yet," the other admitted. "But I suspect we'll find out soon."

Sirius grunted in acknowledgement, struggling to keep his concentration away from where it wanted to focus—where, in truth, he probably should have focused. But he didn't want to think about that, now. He couldn't. Not with the burning red Mark on his arm and the deeper black mark on his soul. For four years, he had lived with the knowledge that he would have to face this fate, but he had always hoped, prayed, that this day would never come. And now that it did, he felt empty and cold—_tainted_—inside. Sirius had known since the beginning, even if he had somehow encouraged himself to forget.

The old stone doors slid out of the way when Bill stepped forward, scraping back along the walls that they always appeared to be a part of. Those doors, as innocent and ancient as they looked, were one of the strongest security barriers that the island possessed. Having shielded the Primary Apparation Center since the day that Viviane Merlyn had brought the Aurors to Avalon, the great stone doors only permitted Aurors to pass—the acceptance by the doors was one of the cornerstones of graduating from Mentorship. But the doors would not allow any who had not been accepted to pass, even if she or he had managed to Apparate through Avalon's more subtle defenses. Throughout the centuries, there had been instances—Sirius thought six—where hapless intruders (and one foolish candidate) had been crushed to death by those doors. No one, in all of Avalon's old history, had ever made it past.

Hobbling through the opening, Sirius felt a momentary spike of fear. Could they—his breath caught painfully in his throat. He had long been an Auror, had even been the one to reopen the island six weeks before. But he had changed, now, had a darkness eating at him that had no place upon what Rowena Ravenclaw had once called the Isle of Light. And there was no lying to Avalon, he knew. Some places were simply magical, and like Hogwarts, the island always knew.

But Dark Mark or no, Sirius made it through the stone entrance unscathed.

Or, at least no more scathed than he had been on the other side. His right leg was trying to drag with every step; even the Quick Heal could no longer make it cooperate. Also, his chest was starting to burn with a sensation that was entirely different from the scratchy dryness in his throat caused by screaming. No, this pain came from not getting enough air in. His battered ribs had to be pressing against a lung or two, and that alone told Sirius that the magic shielding him was on the verge of falling apart.

_Ten minutes, _he thought to himself. _Maybe fifteen._

He'd been too wrapped up in his own problems to notice the figures running up to them until the candidates had almost reached Bill, who had drifted several steps ahead. A good man, and he was in his element—Sirius had never been an instructor on Avalon, though he'd always wanted to. However, the years he'd spent in Azkaban had been the ones he would have otherwise spent teaching and Mentoring…and _living_. But he looked at the newcomers instead. Best not to think about that now.

A few faces were ones that he recognized, but Sirius only guessed at who most were through dizzy eyes. The majority of the candidates had put their wands away, but a few of them stared at him suspiciously. Several even frowned, looking at his battered state, but the glares bounced right off of Sirius without impact. He had bigger pains and problems than obnoxious little children.

Still, somehow his left arm had nestled against his chest, shielding the Mark from prying eyes. Maybe it was just instinct.

Andromeda's daughter jogged up to Bill. "I posted guards at both docks, and at all three Apparation Centers. We've also been patrolling the island at regular intervals, and I had a person by the fires in case anyone called."

"Well done." Bill smiled tiredly. "Thank you. We'll be forming work parties to help clean up Diagon Alley," he continued. "Sections One through Three will go. Section Four will remain here for security."

Excited and disappointed mumbling broke out, and the candidates exchanged curious glances as another half-dozen approached. Clearly, they were desperate for new information, but none dared ask until a sandy brown haired candidate blurted out:

"What about the Death Eaters?" he asked, his eyes glued to Sirius. A vague memory popped up, and the senior Auror almost squinted at the candidate before he caught himself. Clearwater, his mind finally reported. Ranked first in the class…with reservations. _Only Frank Longbottom would put someone first despite that he so obviously dislikes them._

Bill, however, glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, making him try to force a smile in return. Sirius coughed, conscious of the stares and feeling his left arm throb. It was as if his arm was saying, _You__ can't ignore me any more. Bastard._

"The Death Eaters are gone," he replied cautiously. "The alley is a mess, but Voldemort left."

Fifteen sets of wide eyes gaped at him, taking in his battered form and adding the pieces together. Within seconds, suspicion had been replaced by an intensity that seemed akin to awe—those stares were something that Sirius had been subjected to before, but would never grow comfortable with.

"But…how?" a girl asked.

His breath was coming short; Sirius had to struggle to control it. He shrugged stiffly. "We fought. He left."

"You won?" someone gasped. He didn't know who, didn't care. The world wavered. Sirius snorted.

"Nothing nearly so wonderful."

Confused candidates blinked; even through his dizziness, Sirius could see their hope. He felt cold. No one asked, but they continued to stare at him in dumb silence; only Bill looked at him with any sort of understanding, and there was compassion in his eyes that Sirius could not scrape up the energy to hate. His chest tightened.

_Either face it now or hide from it forever._

Sirius forced his aching shoulders back. This was not the way he would have wanted to bare the darkness within his soul, but if he started hiding, he would never stop. Forgetting had never been an option, but he had managed to hide from the memories…until Voldemort had forced him to face his worst experiences and fears, forced him to do it not in the dark of Azkaban but in broad daylight and before the eyes of the world. Sirius hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath, and letting it out again made his chest twist in agony.

"It will come out in the papers soon enough," he made himself speak lightly, but refrained from shrugging again. That would have hurt too much.

Mouths started to open, but Sirius shook his head, cutting them off. It took a great effort to pull his left arm away from his chest—he'd rather hide in a hole and try to protect his battered soul. But darkness could not be avoided or ignored. It had to be fought.

The Mark was still bleeding, but Sirius refused to wipe it clean. He wasn't ready to touch it, and had a feeling that he wouldn't manage to stay conscious through doing so, anyway. The snake's eyes seemed to burn triumphantly at him, even when he did not look at it, both in his mind and in his soul. The skull was still wreathed in fresh blood, but that did not blur the image at all. Somehow, it seemed to only make the Mark stand out more. The black lines were stark against his pale skin, and though their cut was graceful, there was nothing beautiful about them. Especially for one who had fought them so hard.

He glanced at it for a moment, then brought his head up again. There was no need to look at something that already filled his mind.

But the others were still staring at the Mark, Bill included. Sirius knew that the Auror had been aware of what had happened (how could he not, with Diagon Alley and Rita Skeeter talking of little else?), but seeing it was something different. Still, Bill's face was impassive, unlike his students'. They were pale and sickened—and most important of all, frightened. None seemed able to speak an intelligent word, but Sirius knew that they deserved, needed, an explanation.

"Four years ago, Voldemort forced the Dark Mark upon me," Sirius said quietly, surprised at how level his voice sounded. "I was too weak to sufficiently resist."

He took a breath, and this time the burn was welcome. Pain helped him concentrate. "It has been buried since then." Every eye was still glued to the Mark. "He brought it out when we dueled. I broke his nose." The brief smile was nasty, and surprised even Sirius. "And a cheekbone or two."

"He ran after that." Bill's smile was no less nasty, but it was concerned.

The shock on the other faces indicated that they could not see what Bill did and what Sirius already knew. _Five minutes?_ he asked himself clinically, knowing that would only hold true if he was lucky. His body wanted to fall; he was holding himself together with sheer willpower, letting the Quick Heal feed off of it to gain strength. Most people never recognized the close relationship between magic and will, but Sirius had instinctively discovered it at a young age. Training with Moody, one of the strongest men he'd ever met, had only taught him how to refine the relationship. Those had been hard lessons, but he needed them now.

And he knew his body well. _Five minutes. No more._ Sirius turned to Bill, pushing the candidates completely out of his mind.

"Let's go." He didn't have the breath to say more.

"Right." The instructor swung into motion. "Sections One through Three, make preparations for departure. Tonks, you're still in charge of Section Four. There will probably be full Aurors here soon. Defer to them when they arrive. Until then, keep security tight."

Sirius did not wait to hear the affirmative replies before he headed for the Main Villa, measuring the distance in his head and hoping that he wouldn't collapse before he got there. The bones in his knee were grinding against one another, and even with the Quick Heal, Sirius had to limp. Still, his escape from Azkaban had been far harder, and he was experienced with pain.

The doorway loomed ahead just as Sirius felt the spell begin to crack. Had it been a block of ice, one could have seen the cracks multiplying, spreading, reaching out. Sirius could only _feel _them building, but he knew they were there. Maybe Bill saw his dizziness or noticed his control fragmenting. The Auror rushed ahead to pull the door open, speaking the password quickly but calmly—he was an Auror, pure and simple; even worried, he never lost control. The door swung open, and Bill stepped through.

Sirius followed him, then stumbled coming through the entrance and barely caught himself on the doorframe. His vision swam, but he pushed himself off with an effort before Bill could reach a hand out to help. The Auror started to speak, but Sirius cut him off.

"I need to lie down." It was almost a gasp. The Quick Heal had stopped cracking.

Now it was crumbling.

Bill nodded, turned an immediate right, and opened the first door. "Here."

It was a nice suite, but Sirius never noticed it. Moving through the doorway, he collapsed. Sirius made a desperate grab for the wall with one hand, and a more desperate one for control of the spell, but he missed both by miles.

-------------

Ginny looked funny in the old fashioned glasses, but she seemed completely at home. She was only eleven, hadn't even started Hogwarts yet, but looked much older with the glasses on and a look of stern concentration on her face. They were all stuck watching her, hoping for an answer and desperate to know what was happening outside. She frowned, but Ginny remained silent.

Fred groaned. "What I wouldn't give for the Map right now."

"Yeah." Ron sighed, scratching idly at his messy hair.

"It wouldn't do you any good, you know," Hermione pointed out sensibly. "The Marauder's Map only works for Hogwarts."

"Oh, don't spoil a good daydream with reality," George retorted crossly. But Fred chuckled.

"Hermione, I now dub you the Official Bubble Popper of the Magical and Invisible Society for Instigating Trouble," he said with a grin. Predictably, she bristled.

"It's not my fault that I'm the only one who thinks ahead," she said archly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hey, it's just a—"

"I think they're gone," Ginny said suddenly, cutting her brother off. Immediately, everyone turned to stare at her, holding their breath and hardly daring to hope. They had been stuck in that dirty and little hole for what felt like forever, and though they'd decided to stay safe and still, the Misfits were ready to leave. She was silent for a long moment before continuing.

"People are starting to move around more," Ginny explained, squinting. "And I don't see any more Death Eaters. I think it's over."

"Are you sure?" Harry demanded before he could stop himself.

Ginny scowled. "No."

"But if you don't see anyone, we can go, right?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Of course we can't," Hermione piped up immediately. "You heard what Harry said. We can't—

Harry put a hand on her arm to cut her off. "It won't be long, anyway," he pointed out. "And we don't…_know_ what has happened. If we walk out and it isn't over…"

He definitely didn't need to finish that sentence. Even Ron, as impatient and bored as he was, nodded in agreement. They hadn't become the Magical and Invisible Society for Instigating Trouble (excepting Ginny, but she was well on her way to earning a place among them) for nothing, after all—every last one of them was extraordinarily talented at breaking rules, even Hermione. Usually, they wouldn't bat an eye at sneaking out of _anywhere_, but this was different. It had to be. Even for chronic troublemakers, there was too much to risk.

"Yeah," Fred finally breathed. "I hate—"

"Someone's coming." Again, Ginny interrupted.

"Who?" Ron demanded.

She did not answer. No one moved.

Finally, Ginny's face split into a grin. "It's Mum."

"Are you sure?" George demanded, making her throw him a cross look.

"Of course I'm sure," she retorted, slipping the glasses off and dropping them into a pocket. "I'm not an idiot, George. I know my own mum."

"Right." Unoffended, both twins squirmed upwards and popped the trap door open. Moments later, Harry heard Molly Weasley simultaneously gushing over the twins and demanding to know where the others were—

"We're here, Mum." Ginny again, looking innocent without the glasses on. She turned to Harry with a smile, and he boosted her out of the hole. He and Ron pushed Hermione up together, and if the other boy shoved her up with a little extra and annoyed relish, Harry pretended not to notice. Then two sets of laughing hands reached down for the boys, and Ron and Harry scrambled out of the darkness.

"—so worried about you—Percy gone in one direction and the six of you in the other. I was so worried that you'd run off and gotten in trouble like usual—"

"We were going to," Fred cut her off cheerfully.

George bobbed his head. "But Harry talked us out of it."

"Harry…?" Mrs. Weasley goggled, and Harry smiled lopsidedly. He hadn't meant it to keep them out of trouble (he wasn't very good at that, anyway), but Mrs. Weasley patted him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, dear."

"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he mumbled. But even Percy was smart enough to see what she really meant: Mrs. Weasley didn't exactly come out and say 'I'm surprised that James Potter's son would have that much common sense,' but she didn't have to. Fortunately, Ron managed to distract everyone before his mum could launch into another tirade. He shot Percy a suspicious glare.

"Where were you?" Ron demanded.

"I got caught in Magical Menagerie, if you must know," the older Weasley brother retorted. "I ran into Mum when she started looking for you."

"How did you know about this hole, anyway?" Mrs. Weasley asked, heading off the sparks before they could begin to fly.

George smiled angelically. "Mum, we know _everything _about Diagon Alley."

"Everything," Fred echoed.

The Misfits (and Ginny) snickered. Percy scowled, but even Mrs. Weasley smiled with relief. She beamed. "I'm just glad that you're all safe and sound. Now, why don't we all go back to the Burrow—"

Someone or something dumped cold water on Harry's good mood. Suddenly, nothing was fun any more. "What about Sirius?"

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, biting her lip, and Harry's stomach seized up with fear.

"I'm not sure," she admitted quietly. "He left before I—"

"But he left? He's alive?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Oh, of course he is. Don't you worry about that, dear." She tried to smile encouragingly, but Ron's open-mouthed gape cut her off.

"Alive? What about Vold—"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, Mum." He didn't look very sorry. "What about You-Know-Who?" Is he dead? Is it over?"

For a moment, they all dared to hope. Mrs. Weasley sighed. "No, I'm afraid not," she said quietly. "The Death Eaters left, but You-Know…_he_ got away. I didn't see most of the duel. I was too far away."

"But Sirius is okay?" Harry didn't want to admit that he'd been terrified of the outcome—the letter that he'd received had told him both too much and too little. Why he had received that letter _now_, he did not know; perhaps it was mere coincidence, because no one could have seen this one coming.

"He's safe, Harry." She didn't, he noticed, say that Sirius was all right, but Harry supposed that this was the best he was going to get.

Ginny suddenly sniffed. "What's that smell?"

"Burning buildings," Percy replied. "The street outside is a disaster."

"And it's time for us to go," Mrs. Weasley interjected. "We don't belong here, and we'll only get in the Aurors' way."

"Aurors?" Hermione asked with interest.

"They've come to help clean up," Percy explained. "Even though it isn't really their place. Proper procedure dictates…"

"Oh, hush, Percy," Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "They don't need a lecture on the proper running of the Ministry of Magic now."

"Sorry, Mum."

Together, the group picked their way out of Quality Quidditch Supplies (which was surprisingly empty, and left Harry wondering where the owner had gone), and into the street. Immediately, Harry saw that Percy was right—it was a disaster. Smoldering debris was scattered all over the place, and further west along Diagon Alley, he could see a large group of people and even more smoke. There were cobblestones torn out of the road and Florean Fortescue's looked like a gutted out bomb crater out of a Muggle movie. There weren't many people at this end of the street, and those he could see were mostly bending over bodies. Some were crying quietly. One was screaming out her grief for the world to hear.

They were all staring.

Harry had never known how bad the smell of burning flesh was. To his right, he heard Hermione gag, and Ron looked positively green. His color matched that of the ugly Dark Mark floating arrogantly in the sky—had anyone else noticed it? The survivors seemed too traumatized to care. But the longer Harry looked at the Dark Mark, the more alive it seemed. Glowing eyes stared back at him, laughing. Laughing.

He blinked as Ginny grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said quietly, pulling Harry forward.

Nodding silently, he glanced upwards one last time. The illusion was gone, if it had been an illusion at all. He hoped so.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was very small, and it made him turn his head. "Does it…?"

"Yeah." Ron was next to him now, and the trio followed the twins and Ginny mutely, glad, for once, that they had stayed out of trouble. Harry swallowed. There was so much death, so much destruction…he had not expected it to be like this.

Percy, behind Harry, sounded shocked when Ginny craned her head around for one last look back. "What are you doing?"

Her brown eyes met his. "I want to remember."

-------------

"What happened?" Julia asked, gesturing at her sister-in-law's leg. She had been waiting at Malfoy Manor for the attack to end, something that she was loathe to do—but had to. She had to know.

"Reductor Curse. Lupin." She sat down heavily, ruining one of the parlor's expensive chairs with her blood covered leg.

"Ouch." Julia was aware that she didn't sound overly sympathetic, but then again, did she ever? "How did the rest go?"

Narcissa's blue eyes darkened dangerously, contradicted only by her dangerous smile. "My darling cousin," she said acidly. "And his charming little friends."

"Oh?" Her heart was pounding so loudly that Julia was surprised that Narcissa didn't hear it. Of course, the question that she desperately wanted to ask was the one that she could not—_Is__ he alive?_

"Yes, oh," Narcissa snapped. "As usual, he managed to ruin everything." Then she smiled again. "Of course, it didn't go quite as well as they might have hoped."

"How many dead?" It was almost impossible to sound detached.

"Macnair only." She didn't exactly sound caring. "Several injuries."

"Not—?"

Without warning, Lucius swept into the room, cutting Julia off by default. She'd been reading her brother for as long as she'd been alive, and had actually come to Malfoy Manor to try her hand at it again—but something in his face made hackles rise along her spine. Years of flirting with danger had taught Julia to trust her instincts…and something was wrong.

Lucius completely ignored his wife; his gray eyes zeroed in on her. "We need to talk."

He never even stopped walking. Julia jumped to her feet. "Where?"

"My study. Now." Lucius strode out of the room, his usual languid and studiously bored movements nowhere to be found. Julia actually had to hurry to keep up with him, something she had never done in her life. But this was serious Lucius, not arrogant and aristocratic Lucius.

The walk to his study was a short one, and neither spoke. Ever polite and proper, Lucius held the door open for her, but there was no expression on his face. At his gesture, Julia sat, slightly wary of her brother in a way she had never felt before. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lucius got in first.

"Who did you tell, Julia?"

Her world went cold. "What?"

"I know it was you." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "You are the only one who knew soon enough to alert Lupin—and it was Lupin, wasn't it?"

Julia stared. Her thoughts were moving so slowly that she might have been swimming in lava. For a long moment, she couldn't speak a word, which Julia _knew _was as good as an admission of guilt, but she hadn't expected…She had known the risks, but hadn't thought it would come to this. Not like this.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Lucius," she managed, but her voice wavered, and they both knew it.

"Don't lie to me, Julia," he said quietly. "Whatever you do, _don't lie to me._"

Alarms were going off in her head. "Why would I lie to you?"

"I know you told someone about the Diagon Alley raid," her brother said evenly. "Merlin save me, I even know why. No one else has put the pieces together yet, but someone will soon enough, and by then it will be too late."

"Too late for what?" Every dream she'd ever had was lying in pieces beneath her feet, and now all that was left to see was how long she would survive. Knowing the Dark Lord, that would not be long.

Unless he had another purpose for her—_Please God don't let me be used against Sirius_, Julia thought desperately. _I will not be bait for some trap. I would kill myself first._

"Too late to save you," Lucius responded, his pale eyes intense.

"What?"

Her older brother smiled slightly, but there was little happiness in the expression. "You might be a fool, Julia," he whispered, "but you're still my sister. If you leave now, you might have a chance."

Was he really…? Again, it took her impossibly long to find her voice. "But you…"

Julia couldn't bring herself to finish. _You are the Dark Lord's right hand. One of the most ruthless people I have ever known. His most loyal follower after the insane Bellatrix Lestrange. _

"So I am." There was no regret in his eyes—not that he would have let her see it, even if he did feel it. "But you are family, and if there is one thing that the Malfoys have always done, it is standing together."

Julia stared.

"Leave the country, sister. Leave, and don't look back. Say your goodbyes if you must, but hurry. I cannot delay discovery without incriminating myself."

---------------

  


Ye Olde Other Author's Note: First, allow me to apologize for the delay. I know that everyone has waited for this chapter, and I've kept everyone while I dealt with real life. Unfortunately, I do have to warn everyone that "dealing with real life" will happen a lot more often for the coming chapters. I have now been commissioned in the US Navy, and that means my time to write will be limited…but I will not stop writing. I promise that. This will never be one of those stories where you are left wondering where it will end, and how. So stay tuned for PR23 next week. I'll get it up as soon as I can.


	23. Chapter 23: Heart, Body, Mind, and Soul

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Three: Heart, Body, Mind, and Soul

_"Say your goodbyes if you must, but hurry."_ Lucius must have known that she had to, and must have known where she would go. But Julia would never really understand her brother, and his most recent actions proved it. So there she was, on the front step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, coming to say goodbye.

Julia bit down on the heartache she felt. She had little right to feel sad, she knew—she was alive, and should be thankful enough for that. Swallowing, she raised her hand to knock on the old and ugly door. Once she left, there was no knowing how long it would be before she could come back. But she would return. Someday.

Somehow.

Her knock sounded hollow on the wood, as hollow as she felt. But it only took a few seconds before the door flew open, and she found herself staring at a messy-haired and green-eyed boy who Julia had never actually seen before, and only knew by name. However, he was the very image of James Potter, and the same age as her nephew, though by all reports, Harry was a lot less obnoxious. _It must be Narcissa's influence_, Julia thought before she could catch herself. And that was Old Blood thinking, she knew. Old prejudices and traditions. _I guess I'm not as different as I thought_.

But she _was _different. Julia had danced too close to the edge and lost, but she had danced on that edge. She hadn't taken the easy way out, the old way. She had dared to take chances—and had been caught in them—but she had tried. _And now I pay the price for that failure._

"Can I help you?" Harry was looking at her suspiciously, and Julia didn't blame him.

"Hello." She swallowed. "I'm Julia Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" he echoed. Green eyes narrowed, and the look made Julia feel sick. _Before this damn war, my family name would not have elicited that reaction._ And now even a child associated Malfoys with evil.

"Yes. I'm looking for Sirius."

"He's not here," a new voice answered.

It was James, still capable of moving silently despite his handicap. He looked older than she'd ever seen him, and there were dark circles under his eyes. But it was his words that struck Julia the hardest—she had known that there wasn't much time, but she had counted on having a few minutes.

"Can you tell me where he is?" she asked quietly.

James shook his head. "I'm sorry." Then he hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

"No. I'm on my way…out of the country," Julia replied sadly. "Just tell him I said goodbye."

His hazel eyes widened slightly, and James swallowed. "I'll tell him," he promised.

"Thanks." Why did she feel so heartbroken? Julia knew she would see Sirius again, but at times she feared that this would have been the last. She'd read a copy of the _Daily Prophet _on the way over, trying to clear her mind. It hadn't worked. Less than two hours after the raid, the _Prophet _had already run a blurb on it, along with a promise that a feature by Rita Skeeter was on the way. She felt cold. "I'd better be going."

"Good luck, Julia," he said as she turned away. She swallowed, and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Thanks, James," she whispered.

Neither stopped to consider the oddity of the situation. Two senior members of two of their world's oldest families, one of which was the lover of yet a third, were standing on a doorstep saying farewells because of a situation neither could control. Once, families like the Potters, the Malfoys, and the Blacks had been the most powerful in the world—_and _they had possessed high senses of honor and higher beliefs in public service. Now, though, a choice made through the dictates of honor was no longer respected—especially outside the confines of blood. The Fourteen Families were no longer connected; now they were disjointed, distant, and cutthroat. They had changed.

War had changed everything.

-------------

Blackness receded slowly. He heard voices.

"Well done, Ms. Lockhart," Bill was saying. "I've been trying to wake him for hours."

Throbbing from everywhere.

"Thank you, sir. Healing has been a hobby of mine since Hogwarts." Female voice.

His left forearm was burning.

"Well, then, stick around. All I know is field medicine."

He remembered why it burned, but didn't want to think about it.

"I'm far from an expert, sir."

Everything was still dark, but he forced himself to blink. That hurt. Everything hurt.

Weasley snorted. "You're closer than I am."

Light appeared at the edge of the blackness, and then full awareness struck him like a thunderbolt. A scream immediately rose in Sirius' chest, but he trapped it there, struggling to breathe through the pain. His body, no longer unconscious and relaxed, fought against his every effort to lay still and simply breathe; instead, it wanted to convulse and choke. Finally, though, the world came into focus.

Sirius wheezed. Immediately, it turned into a cough, and he tasted blood. He cursed.

"Glad to know you're alive," Bill said quietly. His attempt at cheer failed miserably, especially once Sirius was able to focus on his worried face. The senior Auror snorted.

"Right now, I think I'd rather be dead," he said wryly.

Bill frowned, and the candidate's eyes grew wide.

"I'm joking," Sirius amended quickly. _Mostly._

"Right." The red-haired Auror seemed to read through Sirius' act, but for once Sirius did not mind. Bill had been in Azkaban—not for nearly as long as Sirius had, but long enough to understand. He knew pain. "We need to get you to a healer."

"Yeah." Even false bravado couldn't suffice here; Sirius felt like a wreck, and he was rather certain that he looked even worse. He started to run a quick mental inventory on his injuries, then immediately wished that he had not—his body's weak trembling reminded him of the journey from Azkaban to Hogwarts, of pushing broken bones to do things no wizard could have made them do. _At least this time I could use a Quick Heal_, he thought without much relief. Not like that helped him much now.

Bill was still talking. "We used to have a team of trained healers here on Avalon, but due to security concerns, we don't. Ms. Lockhart here is the best we've got."

"And I'm not nearly good enough," the blond-haired girl said promptly. "I only dabbled in healing with Madam Pomfrey. I always wanted to be an Auror."

"Get Pomfrey, then." His breath was growing short again, and Sirius felt his chest close tighter with every gasp.

"She's not an expert on anything like this, Sirius—" Bill tried.

He coughed, and it burned. Blackness crept in at the edges of his vision, but he forced it back. Again. "I know," Sirius said tightly. "But I trust her, and there aren't many healers I'd want on Avalon."

Bill started to speak, then his mouth snapped shut as he caught the meaning behind those words.

"Yeah." Sirius managed a mirthless smile. "I don't think I'll be leaving this island any time soon."

-------------

"What was that about, Dad?" Harry asked as the door clicked shut.

James sighed quietly. Julia's arrival had initially brought his frustration to a peak—even _she _had been able to act while he could not. Remus hadn't revealed how he'd known about the raid (Hagrid had contacted James, anyway, and there was no way that he could have known), but the moment Julia had shown up, James knew. Yes, she had acted…and had paid the price. In all likelihood, she would not live to see Sirius again.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "An old friend," he finally told his son, surprised at how true those words were.

"A friend?" Harry echoed dubiously. His son was as open-minded as any father could hope, James knew, but his perceptions had been colored by growing up during the war. They all had. "Is she related to Draco Malfoy?"

"She's his aunt. Lucius Malfoy's sister."

"And she's your friend?" Harry stared at him, making James suddenly feel sad. _Have we really drawn lines so thick? _he wanted to ask. But James knew the answer. However this war ended, their world would take a lot of healing before it could even resemble the one he had grown up in.

"Yes, a friend," he said quietly. "A friend from before the war."

And had his family been any different, James might have ended up arranged to marry someone like Julia Malfoy. Someone with all the advantages of the old families: wealth, beauty, power, and assumed nobility. Someone like Julia might have ended up as Harry's mother, instead of the vibrantly alive and fiery Muggleborn he had fallen in love with. Lily, who fit him in ways that Julia fit with Sirius—but whom, unlike his friend, he was lucky enough to share his life with.

For a long moment, James stared at the closed door in silence, wondering what might have been. He wasn't even sure who he was wondering for, Sirius or himself, but he had to wonder.

"Dad?" Harry's voice snapped James out of the realm of daydreams. Nightmares? _What if the world _was _different?_

"Yeah?"

"Why can't we go to Diagon Alley? I'm not a baby any more," his son said reasonably. "I can help, you know."

James sighed. No, Harry was growing up far too fast. "I know. But Diagon Alley is no place for children." Bitterly, he gestured at his own legs. "Or for invalids."

Lily was helping in Diagon Alley, leaving James home with Harry. The irony of the situation was incredible—how many times had he left her at home while he rushed off into danger? Now James knew how Lily must have felt, and he wasn't liking it one bit.

"I hate hiding," Harry said quietly.

"So do I, kid," James wheeled away from the door, and this time he didn't look back. "So do I."

-------------

Somehow or another, Dung Fletcher and Frank Longbottom had ended up working side by side. They were old friends, though Frank had been several years ahead of Dung through Avalon (despite the fact that Frank was four years younger), but at the moment, Dung hated the man. He knew exactly what Frank was going to ask. Had to ask. And the worst part about it was that Frank, unlike almost everyone else, had every right to ask. He hadn't run away.

He would ask. Eventually. At the moment, they could still speak normally.

"He knew we were coming," Frank commented casually, levitating a lamppost out of a crater in the street. A flick of Dung's wand secured it back into its original position, and Frank cast the Sealing Spell. They made a good team. "When we Apparated into Knockturn Alley, not exactly a place you would expect Aurors—they were waiting."

"Same with us," Dung grunted, choosing a shattered park bench as his next project. The first few hours had been spent digging victims out of the rubble and getting them medical attention, but now they were down to cleaning up the disaster Voldemort had created. It was a good thing that doing so required very little finesse, though; most of the rescuers were far too exhausted to manage anything harder. "Remus and I popped out of the Floo and got Mulciber, Flint, both Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange as a welcoming committee."

Frank mumbled a spell, returning a slinky-shaped trash can to its original form. "Well, I guess that's one thing."

"What?" He floated a park bench down from the roof of Gambol & Japes.

"Had it been me, and I knew we were coming, I'd have sent that group against the Aurors," Frank replied. "No offense intended, of course."

"None taken."

Together, they worked to right the collapsed wall of the second-hand robe shop, casting spells in companionable silence for some time. Meanwhile, Dung mulled the problem over in his head. Five experienced Death Eaters to face one ex-Auror and a Hogwarts headmaster who was _not _Dumbledore? It just didn't make sense. Dung had thought he and Remus were dead when he'd realized what they faced, but Remus had surprised him. The thought made the professor smile nastily. _Remus surprised the Death Eaters, too_. It would have made more sense if they hadn't been surprised…but they didn't expect Remus Lupin to fight like that, either. And that still left a far weaker group to face four fully trained Aurors. It didn't add up.

"I would have done that, too," he said after several moments. "Especially Mulciber and Flint. They'd have fared a lot better against the four of you."

"Undoubtedly. Though I guess it's some consolation, knowing that he doesn't know everything."

Dung shivered slightly as a cold breath of wind touched his spine. "Yeah," he said quietly. "But he knew enough."

"Too much." The wall was in place, and Dung cast the Sealing Spell while Frank shored up its structural integrity. He felt drained. So did Frank, though, judging from the way that the Auror didn't immediately pick out a new target to fix. Instead, he turned his tired brown eyes to look at Dung.

"How, though?" Frank asked idly, kicking a bit of debris with the toe of a booted foot. "From the time we found out to the time we acted couldn't have been more than ten minutes."

"And there are all of eight people who knew." Dung had been turning this one over in his head since the moment they'd arrived, and he _knew _that none of those people were traitors. "Nine, if you count the spy who told us."

"Ten, including Alice," Frank added.

Dung managed to smile. "Alice isn't exactly a security risk." He groaned. "But then again, neither are any of the others."

"Hmm." Frank's brow furrowed in concentration. "Eight I can think of: you, me, Remus, Alice, the three instructors from Avalon, and James, because he called me—who's number nine?"

"Hagrid. He contacted James for us."

"Damn."

"Yeah," the ex-Auror agreed. There was nothing else to be said on that subject; both knew that even if Hagrid had _wanted _to betray them, Voldemort would never take a half-wizard, half-giant. Besides which, Hagrid was one of the most loyal people Dung had ever met. He certainly wasn't a traitor.

Frank frowned. "That leaves the spy."

"But why tell us just to tell him we're coming?"

"Double cross?"

"But what's the point in _that_?" Dung wondered. He knew he'd have this same conversation the next time that the Inner Circle met (Merlin only knew when that would be, with Sirius such a mess), but it was nice to hear another opinion.

Frank shrugged. "A trap?"

"Didn't work very well, if so," Dung snorted.

"I'm not objecting." A smile flashed across the Auror's worn features. "Shall we get back to work?"

"Why not? It's not like I've got answers, anyway."

Frank slapped him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, it's enough to have the right questions, you know."

"Questions don't win the war."

-------------

Sirius had drifted in and out of consciousness while he waited for Bill to contact Poppy Pomfrey, and then find a way to bring her to the island. There were ways, of course, but it usually required two Aurors to bring one visitor to Avalon, and Sirius wasn't exactly in a position to help. But Bill had just smiled and said that he'd jury-rig the system, and send the candidates to Diagon Alley while he was at it.

So Sirius waited under the watchful eyes of Dana Lockhart, wishing that she'd just go away and equally glad that she did not. He'd have tried conversation if he hadn't felt so terrible—anything was better than waiting and thinking and feeling.

Sooner or later, though, he had to think about it, and in the empty silence Sirius attempted to reassemble the shattered pieces of his soul. Even though he had known this would come, he hadn't ever thought that it would be like this…and had tried desperately to forget it when every other nightmare reminded him that he had been tainted. _"I own your heart, body, mind, and soul."_

He shivered. Someone else might try to tell him that because he had fought the Mark, things were different. That it wasn't the same as having accepted it willingly. But no one else could feel the coldness at the edge of his consciousness, could describe the sensation that sharp and dark fingers had sunk into him and would not let go. At moments, he had the feeling that he was being watched, the kind of feeling from looking over a shoulder and finding that no one was there. Voldemort was testing the link, Sirius knew. The link that had been buried for four years, and had only now come to the surface.

"Are you all right?" Lockhart asked. Her voice was quiet, and she wasn't much like her obnoxious relative at all.

Sirius tried to nod, but that hurt too much. "As well as I can be," he replied.

"Madam Pomfrey should be here soon," she tried to reassure him, and the effort made him want to laugh. Instead, Sirius forced his eyes open.

"Why do you sit there and watch me?" he managed to ask through the heaviness resting on his chest.

"Sir?" She stared at him as if he'd gone insane.

Maybe he had.

"You don't know me. You don't have any responsibility." Short sentences were easier. "Why do you care?"

Innocent eyes stared at him incredulously. "You're Sirius Black. You're a hero."

"Do you really still believe that?" Sirius whispered bitterly. Her eyes widened in shock, and he regretted it immediately—but not fast enough to stop himself. He gestured with his left arm, making pain shoot through his body. "After this?"

"You—" She didn't seem to know how to finish.

"Never mind. I'm sorry." Sirius sighed painfully. "I'm bitter and I'm tired. Don't mind me."

"It's okay." Lockhart smiled lopsidedly. "I understand."

He snorted. Bad idea. "Glad to know one of us does."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Get me a coma," he muttered.

"What?" she gaped.

"Nothing. I'll be okay."__

"You look like hell, sir," Lockhart objected.

"Don't call me 'sir'," Sirius replied tiredly. "Makes me feel old."

She chuckled, and for a moment he felt vaguely human…right up until pain exploded from his left arm.

-------------

"Dear God." Peter's voice was subdued, but his eyes were large. James swallowed.

"Yeah."

Side by side, the two made their way west along Diagon Alley, with Peter walking and James "rolling" his modified wheelchair along several inches above the ground. They'd Apparated in together, after contacting Frank Longbottom and getting a window opened, and though it was four hours since the attack, both were still shocked by the carnage. James swallowed. _I can only imagine how bad it was earlier._ Exhausted Aurors were directing candidates and volunteers in the cleanup efforts, but looking at them only made James feel guilty. He'd left Harry with Molly Weasley and had pulled Peter out of France, knowing that he needed to be there, and needed his department heads, too. Even Lily couldn't tell James that it wasn't safe for him, now, and even if it wasn't, James hadn't ever been good at hiding.

Department heads. _Damn._ Fudge approached first, as usual. Poor Arthur was on his heels, looking harried and hassled—he'd obviously been dealing with the career politician for hours, probably since Fudge had arrived. Judging from the efficiency surrounding them, Arthur had proved rather successful in controlling Fudge, but that still didn't make it better. Moments like this reminded James why he hated politics.

"Minister!" Fudge extended a hand, looking pompous and important. As usual. Hackles prickling on his neck, James took the hand without enthusiasm, and tried not to cringe.

"Mister Fudge," he managed to say cordially. "Thank you for coming."

"This is an absolute tragedy." For once, even Fudge looked subdued. "I cannot even begin to estimate the extent of the damage, and so many innocents…" he trailed off, then set his mouth grimly. "We must do something."

"I couldn't agree more."

His other department heads were approaching, looking shell-shocked and terrified. They glanced around with wide-eyed horror, trying to anchor themselves enough to understand what had happened. It was probably the second time in history that all the Ministry's departments were completely united. The first had been after the Ministry's destruction two months previously, but that harmony had faded and the politicking had returned with a vengeance. But no more. No longer. Fragmentation meant death, and these witches and wizards knew that. The only way to survive would be to stand together.

Arthur approached as Fudge turned away to speak to Nathaniel Adams, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports since Ludo Bagman had been killed.

"Everyone's here," he told James quietly, nodding a greeting to Peter. "Frank Longbottom will continue rescue work, and Alice will represent the DMLE."

"Thanks." James managed to smile, but it felt fake. "Sorry that I couldn't come earlier."

"It's all right." Arthur shot a quick glance around the alleyway. "I understand."

"How are things?" He'd noticed the look, hadn't missed the lines that worry had etched into his deputy's face.

"Going." Arthur shrugged. "Slow, but moving along. It'll be weeks before we get this place cleaned up."

"Have all the injured been evacuated?"

"Yes," another voice answered. It was Alice, who was an old colleague and an even older friend. "The last ones were moved out an hour ago, and St. Mungo's is under guard by Aurors. We have the candidates here to help with everything else."

"Thanks, Alice."

She smiled tiredly. "That's the job."

"Right, then," Peter spoke up from James' left. "Where do we want to meet?"

"Somewhere safer than here," Marcy Basil replied immediately, making several people exchange doubtful glances.

"There isn't anywhere safer," Alice interjected coldly.

"Not in Diagon Alley, anyway," James added before anyone could object. "We've nothing to hide. We'll talk here."

He had reason to speak with confidence. The reporters had all been chased away—the only thing that the Aurors hated more than reporters were Death Eaters, but reporters were a damn close second. Theirs was a view that James still shared; there were moments when reporters were a far more dangerous enemy than a dark wizard could ever hope to be. Now, though, the only people present were volunteers and rescue workers, from whom they indeed had nothing to hide.

"Well, in that case, why did you call us here?" Amos Diggory demanded, making James swallow.

"First of all, to see everyone. To let you know that we're working on fixing things…" He shot Fudge a wan smile. "And that something is going to be done."

"What?" Adams asked. Out of the corner of his eye, James spotted Remus approaching.

"I don't know yet," the Minister admitted. "And that's really why we're here. We've got questions; we need answers. And actions."

Fudge spoke up immediately. "Speaking of questions, I do have one."

Heads turned. "I think we all do," Arthur said tiredly, then sighed. "But there's no reason why you shouldn't start."

"Why thank you, Deputy." He smiled sweetly, and had James not been so distracted, he might have realized that something was wrong when Fudge turned to face Alice Longbottom.

"We're missing a department head," he pointed out innocently. "Namely, the one who most ought to be here. Where, might I ask, is Sirius Black?"

Alice's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Oh?" Fudge asked. "Don't you think that the government has a right to know where one of its so-called heroes ran off to?"

"'So-called'?" A block of ice settled in James' gut, even as Alice snapped:

"You being uniquely suited to judge courage and heroism, of course."

"I don't have the Dark Mark branding _my _arm," Fudge shot back.

"_What?_" Several voices gasped, among them James' own.

"You didn't know?" The politician's gaze was now focused on James alone. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _marked _him. Or, perhaps," his eyes glinted, "he merely revealed something that had been there all along."

Suddenly, a hand was on James' shoulder, and an urgent voice was whispering in his ear. "He forced it on him, Prongs, and Sirius fought it like hell. I wasn't there, and I don't know enough, but I know he fought it. This isn't what it looks like. It isn't what he'll make it be."

James had almost forgotten about Remus, but his friend's hand was comfortingly tight on his shoulder. His voice was so quiet that James realized that Remus must have been kneeling beside him; Peter might have overheard, but there wasn't a chance of Fudge knowing what was said. What Remus had said… James felt sick. _The Dark Mark—Dear God_. How could Sirius deal with that? Sirius. _Sirius._

He swallowed back the horror and forced himself to nod. After a final squeeze of James' shoulder, he heard Remus rise to stand behind him, right between James and Peter. They faced Fudge together.

"Or perhaps things are not what they seem, Cornelius," James forced himself to say evenly.

"Even if they aren't, I believe such a matter requires immediate investigation," the head of the department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes said righteously.

It was Remus, ever the voice of reason, who spoke before James could frame a suitably calm reply. Only later would James realize that Hogwarts' headmaster seemed completely at ease amongst the leaders of the Ministry of Magic, and not a single one of the department heads objected to his presence. "That may well be, Minister Fudge," he said quietly, "but now is hardly the time to begin. There are too many others to care for first."

His soft voice won them over; James could have argued until he was blue in the face, but he would have chosen the wrong tact. Rattled and taken them by surprise, James probably would have railed at his subordinates, and they would have hated him for it. _Remus, I owe you the world's biggest favor_, he thought with relief. His head was spinning with questions, but James had to turn to the matter at hand despite the fact that his best friend now bore the Dark Mark.

"Let's get to business, shall we?" he asked pointedly, and heads nodded. It would be a long day, but they had work to do.

-------------

He'd blacked out again, or started to, anyway. Forcing himself to keep—regain?—consciousness was exhausting.

"Sir?" Lockhart sounded worried.

Sirius coughed. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

"Then what would you like me to call you?" He thought he heard her smile, but his eyes weren't functioning all that well.

"Siri—"

Pain exploded from his left forearm, making white light flash before his eyes. Helplessly, Sirius screamed, feeling the Mark burn, feeling every line of it etched into his arm as if a knife had carved them there. But even as burning agony ate away at his arm, icy fingers clawed at his soul. Memories.

_"Why do you fight?"_

_"You keep asking as if my answer is going to change," Sirius managed to whisper. His throat burned more now than before, even if his hazy vision was trying to clear._

_"It will."_

_"So? You know I'll fight you every step of the way."_

_"Yes, you will. But why?"_

_Sirius snorted and lied. "Because you hate it."_

_And then nothing.__ Just cold blackness._

Distantly, Sirius was aware that he had stopped screaming. He had gone still, gone cold. His body felt like stone. Sirius didn't even know if he was breathing, and Lockhart might have been talking—but he had no way to know. So cold.

_I own you, Sirius. Heart, body, mind, and soul._

Not memories.

Cold laughter.

Burning.

_Oh, yes. I own you. There is no fighting it._

He wanted to fight, but he could not move. Sirius' mind was working too slowly to understand everything, but his heart knew. It knew far too well. Despite that knowledge, though, he could not. He could hardly think, could not fight—

_Yes. Surrender. You have no choice._

Never in his life had Sirius felt so cold. Not even when surrounded by Dementors, when locked in the hell he had survived. Distantly, he thought that he heard Lockhart calling his name, panicking…but maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he really was alone in the darkness, alone with the agony in his arm. So cold.

_Give in, Sirius_.

_No._

The answer rose from somewhere buried within his soul, came from a deep place that even Voldemort had never been able to reach. The gnawing evil inside him was new, but he'd spent ten years fighting heartbreak, a decade digging inside himself to fight even when there was nothing left. Struggling had become instinctual. He used to do it even when he was aware of little else.

_Nothing new, that_, he thought bitterly.

Agony. Sirius knew that he screamed again because his throat felt raw and bloody. He could feel Voldemort's cold fury, feel the evil that was invading his mind. Had he been standing inches away from the Dark Lord, the sensations would have been no clearer. Their old link was stronger than ever.

_You have no choice_.

_Watch me._ Pain, and he screamed again.

_Defiance__ has its penalty, Sirius._ Playful satisfaction. _You have known that for years._

The words were a distraction. Voldemort was warring for control of his soul. Sirius felt as if an enormous hand was shoving him down towards defeat, towards death—or worse.

_Have I ever cared?_ he demanded.

Had claws torn into his heart, it would have hurt less.

_You will._

_No._

He could almost _see _the smile. _You let me give you my Mark, didn't you?_

The question burned on his arm, and Sirius felt his resistance waver.

_Didn't you?_

So cold. He was so cold, and so alone.

_Sirius?_

Empty. Dark. Alone.

Afraid.

_No!_

Something snapped.

Nothingness. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air. Little by slowly, his vision cleared, and the room came into focus. Dana Lockhart stared at him in terror.

"Get Pomfrey," Sirius gasped, and then promptly blacked out.

-------------

The owl was waiting for him when he reached Domus Archipater, drop dead weary and ready to get out. Tomorrow, he would move back to Hogwarts, and Snape had rarely been so eager to return. Unlike many of his old school friends, Snape did not worship his ancestral home. The place had been dead to him ever since his parents had died—what was a lonely bachelor to do with a sweeping and ancient mansion? He had very few living relatives, just a cousin or two whose names he had forgotten, and even if he _did _try to remember, odds were that they wanted little to do with him. Severus Snape simply was not the type of man who people were proud to know. Associating with Snape was dangerous, even for Death Eaters. Playing the double game, he lived in the darkest of the shadows and lived the most dangerous of lies.

It was a lonely life, but he liked it that way. Usually. At Hogwarts, anyway, it was an oddly seductive life—Snape had no problem being the loner amid so much bustle and activity. But here…

The owl was sitting on the banister of the wide marble staircase, staring at him with huge eyes. His first thought, quite irrelevantly, was that the owl's light brown feathers clashed horribly with his decor. The second, though, was far more to the point. That owl was Julia's.

A block of ice settled in his stomach, and all of Snape's questions were answered by the presence of that sleek little owl, named Boudicca. He took the letter without looking, and felt his guts churn.

"Damn you," he whispered.

_Severus,_

_I would have stopped at Domus Archipater to say goodbye if I could have, but I know where you still are. I know that you're trying to figure out the answers to the mystery which you now realize I am a part._

_I won't say that I am sorry, because I believe you would have done the same. I will say thank you, though, for showing me the way. Without your friendship, your honesty, I would have been lost. In these last few months, you have helped me find myself again, for which I owe you more than I can ever repay. So, instead I will heckle you._

_Be careful, Severus. Please, whatever risks you must take, be careful. I never really asked you why you do what you have chosen to do, but I know that you have a burning need to do the right thing. But please do not get yourself killed doing that. I know it would make you laugh, but the world needs men like you._

_I have to leave the country—where I am going, I will not say. But I will stay alive, and I will stay safe, wherever I go. After all, as you've always told me, sometimes it is healthier to know nothing. But when I return, I will find you, and we can trade stories, maybe even tell the truth for the first time in years. _

_I'll miss you until then, you lonely and secretive bastard. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking that you have no friends. Be careful, be strong, and I will see you on the other side._

_Your friend,_

_Julia_

_PS: Destroy this letter. I'll be back before this is over._

Snape swallowed, then crumbled the letter up into a tiny ball. He'd thought of the house as empty before, but that was nothing compared to the gaping hole in his heart.

"Damn you."

  


---------------

  


Ye Olde Other Author's Note: As most of you know, I have now reported to my first ship with the Navy, so my free time is rather limited. Things might calm down a bit in the future, and I am still writing, but please be patient with me. That said, stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Four: "Dawn of a New Day."


	24. Chapter 24: Dawn of a New Day

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Four: Dawn of a New Day

The sun broke over Avalon, soaring in across the waves, bringing with it gold light to a world that so often was shrouded in darkness. Dawn seemed to sweep over the island, starting on the ancient roof tops and working its way down the old walls, down the hill, and across green fields. On the shores, the sunlight glinted off the waves, making it hard to look directly at the water, but it was still a beautiful day, and felt like summer. A normal person might have seen the sight and felt hope, but the Aurors and candidates were too drained for such fine emotions. Every last one of them had been awake throughout the night, helping clean up and reconstruct Diagon Alley as well as relieving the full Aurors on guard at St. Mungo's.

Now, the seventeen hour long cleanup of Diagon Alley had come grinding to a halt and Candidate Section Three had joined a team of three Aurors at the hospital. Everyone was ready to fall asleep on their feet, despite the rigorous conditioning of Auror training. Candidates and Aurors alike had shared the load, including Tonks' own section, 4904-4, which had pulled the last, and longest, two shifts in Diagon Alley in addition to the first one at St. Mungo's. Because of that, every witch and wizard on the island wanted to collapse, but no one was ready to yet.

But when dawn came, most of the Aurors (professionals and candidates alike) were milling around outside the Main Villa, talking very little and staring blankly at the sky. They were waiting. Waiting and hoping.

Not everyone was waiting, though, and that worried the Aurors more than it might have otherwise. The four instructors, plus Alice Longbottom and Dana Lockhart were still inside, and Weasley and Dana had been there since Sirius Black had arrived. Less than three hours later, Poppy Pomfrey had arrived from Hogwarts—an odd choice that only worried Tonks—and had disappeared into the Main Villa as well. And it didn't exactly take Rowena Ravenclaw to figure out what was going on. But they knew nothing.

Finally, ragged and with deep circles under her dark eyes, Alice Longbottom emerged from the Main Villa. She'd arrived an hour before, having bounced between Ministry meetings and coordinating security while her husband ran the Diagon Alley cleanup efforts. Frank Longbottom, of course, the candidates knew well—too well, for most—but Alice they knew little enough about. She was the apparent number two in the Auror Division and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but she'd not come once to Avalon during their training. Many were too exhausted to even recognize her, but Tonks watched tiredly as Alice walked up to Francine Hoyt. They spoke quietly before Alice turned to face everyone else.

"He'll be all right," she said without preamble. "He's awake now, and resting."

Relief seemed to deflate the crowd, and Tonks felt a cold shiver wash over her. It wasn't just that Sirius was family—he was a hero. They _needed_ him, and if Voldemort had managed to kill or had done enough damage to make Sirius die of the aftereffects, everything Sirius had fought for would come to naught. The mystery behind his Dark Mark was bad enough, but Mark or not, they needed him. And so did the rest of the world.

Tonks scowled. Yes, the Wizarding World needed him, but would they _understand_? The Mark had shocked the Auror Division, but they were Aurors. They understood that it wasn't Sirius' choice, that sometimes darkness _did _win. The rest of society, though… She snorted out loud. They believed what they read in the _Prophet_. They believed that the world existed in black and white. Shades of gray did not exist. Would they understand? She was afraid to find out.

Horace leaned close to her. "I wonder how Dana is doing?"

"Tired, I bet," she replied, yawning in an involuntary illustration of her point.

"We all are." Surprisingly, it was Cornelia who spoke, no longer so strikingly beautiful when coated in grime and not having slept since two nights before.

"Yeah," Horace agreed. "I s'pect that we all look dead, too."

Cornelia chuckled. "Quite."

"So, where's Jason?" Tonks asked, more to keep herself awake than out of any desire to know.

"Talking to Longbottom," she replied with a shrug. "Heaven only knows why."

Tonks followed Cornelia's gaze just in time to see Jason walk away from Alice Longbottom with a scowl on his face. The older Auror's expression was unreadable, but her tired eyes tracked Jason as he headed back towards his fellow candidates. He was growling by the time he reached them.

"What is it?" Horace asked, but Jason shook his head.

"Nothing."

Tonks opened her mouth to argue, but Alice Longbottom cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. "At this time," she began, "all candidates will return to their barracks. All active Aurors will be housed in the Main Villa's guest quarters. Guard rosters will continue as previously announced under the direction of Mr. Dawlish. For other than official reasons, no one will leave this island. Any and all questions need to be directed at myself or to the instructors."

Adam Macmillian stood up from where he'd been seated in the grass. "Are Fire Calls to our families authorized?"

"For active Aurors, yes. For candidates, no," Alice replied immediately, making several of Tonks' classmates frown. Why, she did not know—they hadn't been able to call home since day one of training. In fact, the candidates' work on Diagon Alley and at St. Mungo's was the first time they'd been allowed to leave the island, but apparently that didn't occur to people like Jason Clearwater.

"That's discrimination," he growled.

Horace rolled his eyes, and spoke in an undertone. "That's policy."

"But—"

"Shh!" Cornelia hissed. "You're being an ass."

Only she could have gotten away with that. Even after spending a month in close company of the others, Jason was still absurdly arrogant. Sometimes, Tonks thought it was a part of his personality that Jason simply couldn't do without. She fought back the urge to snicker—_Hell, a little humility would probably kill him_. Jason growled again, but shut up.

Longbottom continued:

"The Main Villa is off limits to anyone who does not have prior authorization. Active Aurors are encouraged to utilize training facilities if they so desire, but all normal Area Boundaries apply where candidates are concerned." Her eyes swept over the group.

"Unless there are any further questions, you are all dismissed. I will keep you updated as things develop."

Slowly, the group split apart, drifting towards their respective housing with the aimless steps typical of the physically exhausted. Only Jason attempted to linger, and it took a hard tug on his arm by Cornelia to get him moving once more.

-------------

His limbs felt like lead when he awoke up for the second time since Pomfrey had gone to work. The first time had been a disaster; Sirius had woken up shaking and shivering, literally covered in a thin layer of ice. He had been so wrapped up in his internal battles that he had completely ignored his physical body—unintentional, but Voldemort's second attack had been far more violent than the first. He'd clung to consciousness after that, yet had proved unable to do so alone. It had taken the combined efforts of Bill Weasley and Madam Pomfrey to keep him there, and Bill had ended up serving as Sirius' anchor, holding him in the real world.

After that, Voldemort had not gained ascendance over his soul—but it had been close. Hours passed before Pomfrey could even begin healing him; Sirius had been too preoccupied with controlling himself, and Bill too occupied with keeping him conscious. Alive. Bill, Sirius knew, had saved his life while he'd been struggling for his soul. But he hadn't the strength to thank him when it ended. Sirius had hardly the energy to take the medicine Pomfrey had given him and drift into a semi-conscious form of rest. At some point, his lethargic state had faded into sleep, but he hadn't noticed. Until now.

His eyes opened so slowly that Sirius feared they might be frozen shut. Finally, though, they opened, and he blinked dizzily. It took Sirius a long moment to realize that he was staring into the eyes of Hestia Jones.

"You are not," he rasped, his mouth as dry as a desert, "exactly the woman I want to wake up looking at."

Jones snorted. "I can see your sense of humor is still intact," she retorted. "And there we were, thinking that you might die. Clearly, we shouldn't have bothered."

"Somethin' like 'at," Sirius mumbled. He tried to smile, but his face didn't want to. He coughed, trying to moisten his mouth. "Water?"

"Here." Jones handed him a cup, blushing a little. "How do you feel?"

Sirius drank, surprised that his right arm wanted to move at all. "Better." _Like I'm only dying, not dead._ "What are you doing here?"

"We all took turns after Bill collapsed into bed."

"Is he all right?" His throat was unbelievably raw, and the water felt good going down.

"Yeah," Jones replied, "just tired."

"I'm glad to hear that." His mind was clearing, but as his thoughts organized themselves, the pain became apparent. His forearm hurt less than before, but the feeling was still there, and Sirius knew without touching it that the Mark would be freezing cold if he did so. "I'll have to thank him later."

"Later, yes, but Madam Pomfrey will hex me if I let you out of bed now."

Surprising himself, Sirius laughed. "Is everyone who went to Hogwarts afraid of that woman?"

"I think so," Jones said seriously, then smiled. "She did a good job on you."

His stomach growled before he could agree. "What time is it?"

"One-thirty, twoish," she shrugged. "You've been sleeping for hours." Lots of them, he realized. Pomfrey had finished just before dawn.

"There any food around?" he asked, feeling his stomach grow more insistent in reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast on the 13th. Now, after lunchtime on the 14th, Sirius felt ready and willing to eat a three-headed dog.

"Yeah." Jones rose. "If you promise not to die while I'm gone, I'll get you something."

"I won't die." Sirius smiled. "I promise."

"Good." She left.

-------------

By the time Jones came back, Sirius was sitting up in bed. She glared, but the time she had spent "reorienting" him had taught Jones that Sirius was constitutionally incapable of backing down—even when it was for his own good. That had been one of the qualities she had come to hate him for, but months of working side by side had taught them mutual respect.

Jones groaned. "You don't give up, do you?"

"No."

He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so flat, hadn't meant to seem so distant. But being alone had made him think. For all he could force smiles and maybe even manage a laugh when he felt distracted enough, the emptiness had not gone. The cold and sick feeling in the back of his throat remained, and Sirius was beginning to think that it would never leave. He might have won one battle, but the burning brand on his arm was a lasting reminder that he was losing the war.

"Are you all right?" she asked suddenly, and Sirius blinked.

"Yes. I'm fine." Jones was staring at him with worried and perceptive eyes. He sighed. "Being alone…it made me remember."

And the nightmares were still dancing through his mind's eye.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

"No."

Perhaps he should have said more. Perhaps Jones deserved better. But he could not, would not_—"__No one knows it is there. But there it will remain forever. There is no taking it back."_—Not there and not then. Sirius forced himself to swallow, but no matter how much he _knew_ that he was being cruel, he could not bring himself to say the few kind words it would have taken to soften the blow.

"All right," Jones said cautiously. "Here's you food, then."

"Thank you."

He ate in uneasy silence, glad that she'd picked food that wouldn't irritate his raw throat. His stomach rolled in protest after the first two bites, but Sirius forced his wayward innards to comply. As hungry as he was, Sirius still felt sick, sick enough to wonder if throwing up might be easier. But no, he knew that he needed to eat. He needed to heal.

_The spell floated into his half-conscious state, making Sirius moan in pain. His entire body burned in pain, and he felt...tainted. Cold. Dark. His left arm felt as if it were both dead and on fire._

_"Good morning."_

_He blinked. Breathing was agony, and he tasted blood. Sirius wanted to scream, but could not find the strength to do so any more. He could not stop shaking._

_"And how are we feeling today?"_

_He hardly had the strength to keep his eyes open, but Sirius forced himself to swallow until he could speak. "You didn't win," he whispered hoarsely._

_His body jerked in pain._

_"You say that with such certainty." The Dark Lord smiled. "As it happens, this round, I did win."_

_Coughing made him scream in pain, and it took a long moment before Sirius could even think about speaking. "Are you so sure about that?" he rasped, choking back another scream._

_"Quite sure, yes.__ You survived with your mind unshattered. I want you broken, not shattered."_

Shivering, Sirius noticed Jones staring at him. Sometime while he'd been caught in the memories, he had dropped his fork, letting it flop uselessly on the tray. Resolutely ignoring her glance, he picked up the utensil and recommenced eating. Memories were something he'd been dealing with for years.

Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Force stomach to stop doing back flips. Long moments passed in silenced, and a cold corner of Sirius' mind rejoiced in them. While he certainly didn't _need _to think, didn't need to remember, he didn't want to talk. Jones would not understand. She could not. No one could.

"There were two interesting articles in the _Prophet _this morning," Jones said, making Sirius start. Silently, he cursed his own nervous reaction, furious that he'd lost control enough to flinch. _Some Auror you are, Sirius. _He almost snorted aloud. _You can't even listen to her talk without flinching._

"The news is out," she continued when he did not reply. The words made Sirius find his voice.

"That's no surprise."

Obviously, she'd been hoping for more interest. "You want to read them?"

_August 13, 1992_

****

**DARK MARK—DARK WIZARD?**

_by_Rita Skeeter, _Special Correspondent_

For years, the Wizarding World has known the meaning

the Dark Mark: a serpent crawling out of a skull with gleaming

eyes. It has long been the symbol of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named, the mark given to his most loyal followers…and now

graces the arm of the Wizarding World's so-called greatest

hero, Sirius Black.

That hero label seems to be getting a bit stale, now, doesn't it?

Let's pause for a moment to add up the facts. Look at the truth

instead of the fantasy for once.

Fact One: Black claims to have been the Potters' Secret

Keeper, and have kept that secret despite ten years of torture.

Fact Two: Those ten years were spent in the hands of He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named.

Fact Three: The Dark Mark is now visible on Black's arm.

But how long has it been there? And why? There are many who

will claim that Black fought the Mark, but those who actually saw

what happened know that is a lie. He hardly resisted at all, and if

that doesn't make one wonder, what does?

Hero no longer seems to be the appropriate word. In fact, traitor

seems to be much more fitting—Black has clearly been serving

Voldemort ever since his supposed "escape" from Azkaban, and

now that fact has come to the light. He will try to deny it, of

course, but who can argue with that glaring serpent on his arm?

So there you have it—truth, without lies, though the Ministry of

Magic will undoubtedly try to cling to their "hero" as long as they

can. Is that willful ignorance or criminal neglect? At this point, it

is almost impossible to tell, but Black's oldest friend is James

Potter, the man who so smoothly slipped into the position as

Minister of Magic through lies and trickery.

The war is no longer black and white, if a war is what this is at

all. Now it seems that the Wizarding World has become pawns

in a greater game, dancing to the tune set by He-Who-Must-Not-

Be-Named. The only question left is what the average witch

or wizard will do now that the lies are exposed.

**THE PRICE OF FREEDOM**

_by_Charles Li, _Special Correspondent_

A miracle happened in Diagon Alley today. Not a miracle in the

classical sense of the word—no fairy tales or magical

creatures—just old fashioned heroism and courage.

Hundreds of witches and wizards watched what we would

classify as impossible happen. We watched, in broad daylight,

Death Eaters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attack Diagon

Alley, killing innocents and slaying those who could not fight

back. Led by the Dark Lord himself, the Death Eaters wreaked

havoc at will, destroying one of Wizarding Britain's oldest safe

havens.

Or very nearly destroying.

Broad daylight. Hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators. Only

one acted.

Sirius Black. We should be used to hearing that name by now,

especially when connected to heroic events, extraordinary

circumstances. Perhaps we ought to be accustomed to his

stepping forward when others will not. Perhaps.

But those who watched the fateful events in Diagon Alley can not

forget his actions—or the price that Sirius Black had to pay.

As we watched in stunned silence, unmoving and afraid to act,

Sirius Black paid a severe price to protect those who would not

fight. He stood alone against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,

because only the Aurors who rushed to aid from their secret

headquarters and two Hogwarts professors bothered to help. No

one else did.

And Sirius Black paid the price for our freedom. And he paid it in

full.

The Dark Mark now burns on Sirius Black's arm, and not a soul

who watched that fateful day in Diagon Alley can claim that it

was placed there with his consent.

Where this will lead, no one can know, but those of us on the

sidelines can be sure that Sirius Black will meet the future with

the same courage with which he has faced the past. There may

be little to depend upon in the weeks to come, but what little

hope there is has been pined on Sirius Black.

-------------

Remus paced the battlements, alone in the emptiness. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, but he felt that it ought to have been pitch black outside. Something was wrong. Unseen forces were pushing at him, directing him towards an unknown end—where, he did not know. But the visions were increasing in both frequency and clarity. The Font had been trying to tell him something for weeks, something important. Remus only wished that he knew what.

"You look worried."

The voice made him jump. Rare was the occasion that anyone could sneak up on Remus—between his own augmented senses and the Font's influence, Remus was especially aware of his surroundings, even at the worst of times. That was especially true on Hogwarts' grounds, but had somehow never applied to Severus Snape. In a strange way, Remus had a feeling that the Font liked Severus.

"Something is going to happen," he replied slowly, turning to face his deputy. Severus was the first of the professors to arrive, probably, and undoubtedly the only one with the tenacity to seek the headmaster out. Everyone else would arrive by dinner, though, and Remus was looking forward to the company.

Severus snorted. "That's news."

"Clearly." Remus threw him a sour look, then shrugged helplessly. "No…it's just that something is coming. I can feel it."

"Feel it?" the other echoed, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"Yes." He wanted to say more, but…_ Damn your dual identities, Severus. Damn it that when I want to trust you the most, I do not dare—and more for your safety than for my own._ "I feel it."

Wisely, Snape asked no more. Instead, he spoke very quietly. "Something _is _coming. To Hogwarts, anyway."

"Voldemort?" He could not help feeling surprised. Ever since the failed attack by the giants that seemed to have been a lifetime in the past, the Dark Lord had done nothing. He had not threatened Hogwarts, had not made a move. Rather, he seemed content to wait. To wait and learn.

"I fear so," Severus admitted.

"Fear?" Remus echoed softly. It was not a word he accustomed to hearing Snape ever use.

"Yes. I do." He watched the other's dark eyes sweep over the grounds. His voice was pained. "I love this place. I would not see it die."

Remus swallowed. "We will make sure it does not."

"I hope we can." Snape's gaze met his. "But I fear the worst. Matters are coming to a head, Remus. Soon, there will be no hiding it. The war will begin in earnest."

"And it hasn't already?" Remus felt cold.

"You have yet to see what the Dark Lord will dare, my friend," Severus said softly. "I pray that you never will."

-------------

The Ministry had yet to establish long-lasting headquarters. Every temporary location they had found had either been betrayed or discovered, and James was not keen on risking lives needlessly. "Rumor" (otherwise known as Severus Snape) reported that Voldemort had tasked Lucius Malfoy with the destruction of any and all Ministry headquarters, and so far, Malfoy had done an outstanding job of it. Thus far, the seven departments of the Ministry were meeting in separate and undisclosed locations: even James did not know where they all were, though he and Arthur did have communications channels open to all the Department Heads. Many of the departments were still running on skeleton staffs, but they were working—for better or worse, the government was functioning.

More or less. He and Arthur were sharing a shady office in a rundown Muggle office building, doing most of their work at home and through Fire Calls, but using what they called the "Ugly Office" to meet privately. Neither could afford to do so often, but sometimes they had to.

"Fudge is beginning to stir up the Department Heads," Arthur said quietly. His once jolly face was lined: he seemed to have aged a dozen years since the attack on the Ministry, and another dozen since the massacre at Diagon Alley.

"Again?" James snarled angrily. "Does he ever stop?"

Arthur's smile was lopsided. "Do you want me to answer that?"

"No," he groaned. "What's he want now?"

"Peace. He says that we have to end this war before more innocents die. At any cost," Arthur added grimly.

"What aren't you saying?" James asked warily. Fudge had been saying much the same thing ever since the destruction of the Ministry and Dumbledore's death had projected him into an unsuspected limelight. The attack on Diagon Alley had only given him additional ammunition—but something in Arthur's voice warned James that this was different.

"Apparently, Veronica Nightshade is doing an exclusive article for _The Weekly Wizard_," the Deputy Minister replied. "An old friend from Hogwarts tipped me off about it. The title is set to be 'A Vision of Peace'."

"Oh." There was little else to say. "Lovely."

"Quite," Arthur grunted. "From what I've heard, it's mostly an attack on you. And the Aurors."

James rolled his eyes. "And this is new how?"

"Well, it's worse than usual." The other chuckled humorlessly. "He denounces you as a warmonger and the Aurors as your willing tools."

"Warmonger, huh?" Despite himself, James grinned nastily. "I'd like to warmonger _him_."

"Yeah, me too."

"What's he say about you?" he asked his subordinate out of curiosity.

"Oh, the usual. Bungling, incompetent, helpless, and overwhelmed," Arthur replied cheerfully. "It isn't anything we haven't dealt with before, but I figured you'd want to know."

"I hate this job."

  


---------------

  


Ye Olde Other Author's Note: The Navy life continues, and I'll be underway for the next week or so, but I'll update as soon as I can. Stay tuned for PR25, and if you haven't gone to the Unbroken Universe Group (check my profile) and entered the contest, please do so fast. The deadline is 10 August!


	25. Chapter 25: A Vision of Peace

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Vision of Peace

The black owl landed on the foot of James and Lily's bed at midnight, having somehow circumvented the deep layers of defenses on Grimmauld Place to land there just as soon as James and Lily finally headed for bed. It had been a long two days since the attack on Diagon Alley, and James had not slept since before then. He'd been too busy with reconstruction and public relations to even consider resting, but now he was ready to collapse. James was planning on traveling to Avalon early the next afternoon (wheelchair or no, his Auror qualifications were still current), and he was looking forward to doing so off of a reasonable night's sleep.

Until the jet black owl arrived, and stared at him with flat red eyes.

Red eyes.

Sitting up, James snatched the letter from the owl before something untold could happen—those red eyes were intensely familiar. How or why he did not understand, and never would. The owl disappeared the moment that he took the letter.

"What is—" Lily started, but James cut her off.

"I don't know."

Shivering, he broke the seal. A part of him did not want to open it—every instinct he had was screaming at him that this letter was _bad_. Years as an Auror had taught James to trust his instincts…but they hadn't taught him how to run away, either. All his life, James had faced threats head on. He would not stop now.

The letter crinkled in his hands as James unrolled it. The parchment was ancient, and had the kind of texture that told him that it had to be handmade. Even in the Wizarding World, such paper was rare—and hugely expensive. Even the Fourteen Families never used such things, save for the most important matters. Magic could never create paper like this.

That alone should have told him. But not until he saw the elegant, old-fashioned handwriting did James realize.

_Dear James,_

_I have recently become aware of a yearning for peace in our world. As you know, but contrary to what pedestrian individuals may believe, I am not opposed to the establishment of peace. War serves no one. I am, in fact, highly amendable to such a cause._

_Our world has suffered enough. No one realizes more than I how this war has harmed our people. Such was never my intention, as a wizard of your status undoubtedly knows. However, twenty-one years of conflict have warped my motives in the public's eyes, and I write to you in response to that._

_I desire peace. This I say to you without reservations, and I extend my hand to you, James Potter, in hopes that you will join me in this endeavor. Join with me and end the darkness. Help me stop this war, James, before anyone else need suffer._

_I ask very little. I do not ask for submission. I do not require surrender. I do not seek to break our world in my effort to save it. All I require is that your government turns Sirius Black over to me, and our conflict will be at an end._

_Consider my offer with open eyes, James, and think first of those who depend upon you. I desire peace with all my heart, but if you deny me, I shall prosecute this war to the best of my ability, and I will not lose. I give you one chance, Minister of Magic. Do not squander my kindness._

_Ave Atque Vale:_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

_ of the Second Family, Marvolo_

_ descended of the Slytherin line_

_Lord Voldemort._

-------------

The island knew. It always had.

There were certain places in the Wizarding World that were simply…different. There were places that had magic embedded in their very roots, in their soil, in their essence. Oftentimes, these were ancient sites, homes or foci of magic users throughout time. Many were known. Some, however, had been forgotten. All, however, were unique.

And Avalon was the oldest.

Unlike Hogwarts or the better known of such places, Avalon seemed to have no consciousness of its own. The island had no soul, no warmth, and no personality. But it was _different_. Few, however, could explain how, and it often seemed that the word "magical" had been created with Avalon in mind. But no one ever would have called the island alive. Only powerful.

That feeling, however, was not the only unique attribute that the ancient island possessed, nor its only mystery. The weather patterns were another.

Avalon did not have seasons. No spring, winter, summer, or fall ever fell upon the island; instead, the weather reflected the mood of the world: harshest in the most hopeless times, and gentle in peace. The Aurors who made the island their home knew to watch the weather, because it was often an indication of how events fared across the water. Gray skies indicated darkness rising, while cloudless and sunny days were a sign that all was not lost. Still, the weather patterns were usually only a mild reminder—never before had they seen anything like this.

Storms rocked the island that evening. Unexpected thunder and lightning threatened to tear the ancient Roman-style buildings down to their foundations, yet still the storms raged on. And on.

-------------

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

James shivered. Never, not once, had he ever seen or heard the Dark Lord acknowledge that name. He had _never _admitted to the Muggle name that also told the world that Voldemort was the heir of two of the oldest Fourteen Families, that revealed the past most of the Wizarding World was afraid to even wonder about. James swallowed. Voldemort had used the forbidden name—and he had done so openly, without fear. Purposefully.

It was as if he was throwing a gauntlet to the ground in challenge. He was saying that he no longer _cared _for the consequences, that he no longer had anything to fear. Clearly, Voldemort was confident that he had won so much, so easily, that he could use that old _Muggle_ name—because no one would dare question where he had come from.

"What is it, James?"

He swallowed again, feeling numb, and passed the letter to Lily without a word. He didn't know if he could even speak—his mind was still twisting into knots as it tried to wrap around the implications of those three little words. Not until she gasped did James begin to think of _what _had been said instead of just considering _how_. Her hand felt like ice on his right arm.

"That bastard," Lily swore, something she never did. "How dare he…?"

"Oh, it's very smart," James replied calmly. "I'll grant him that."

"What…?"

He sighed. "Think about it, Lily. I'm not the only one who is going to hear of this. I can't be." James frowned. "He knows what my reply will be."

"Then what in the world does he want?" Out of the corner of his eye, James watched her bite her lip, and his wife's pretty face creased in concentration. "Even Voldemort must understand that you would die before betraying Sirius to him."

"In a heartbeat."

"Then what?" she asked worriedly, absently toying with a strand of hair. "He always has a reason."

James nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of. You notice the signature on the letter?"

"Ye—_oh_." Lily blinked. "He's sending you a message."

"More than one," he breathed. "But why? And what?"

She had no answer, and they sat in silence once more as everything began to sink in. Voldemort couldn't possibly think James would give in…could he? No. He wasn't that blind, couldn't think James as disloyal as that. It had to be something else. Something more.

"'_If you deny me, I shall prosecute this war to the best of my ability, and I will not lose_,'" Lily read quietly. "Is he looking to shift the blame?"

"Is that possible?" James countered.

"It depends upon who else sees this letter," she replied sensibly.

James growled. "Oh, I'll be destroying this thing. There's no way that I'm going to play his game."

"He might expect that, James."

"That's why I'll be calling every editor of every magazine and newspaper there is and cashing in every favor I've accumulated," he said grimly. "This will _not _be getting out."

Lily nodded. "I only hope that's enough."

"Me, too," he admitted quietly, taking the letter out of her hands. For a long moment, he stared at the ancient paper, looked at the elegant script, and wondered what he wasn't seeing.

Unless Voldemort really wanted Sirius that badly.

He bit his lip. "I think that Sirius scared him, Lily," James said thoughtfully. "I think he really did."

"What do you mean?"

"This letter is almost a sign of weakness," he replied slowly. "He's acknowledging that Sirius is a threat to him…that he has to eliminate Sirius or he can't win the war."

"I doubt that was his intention."

"That makes no difference." James shook his head. "He might not want to admit it, but Voldemort needs to kill Sirius."

"Or worse," Lily whispered.

James swallowed. "Or worse," he agreed.

It seemed horrible to discuss his best friend this way, as if Sirius was simply another chess piece to be manipulated. But Voldemort's letter had made James' mind go _click_, and it was his duty to consider every angle. Still, it wasn't right. How had four innocent boys been transformed into…into what? Heroes? That was a strange thought. Twenty-one years ago, when he had first met Sirius on the Hogwarts Express, James would never have imagined that the obnoxious and lighthearted boy would become the only wizard to have faced Voldemort and survive. Twice.

_And now that bastard wants my best friend. He wants the man who spent ten years suffering because he was too loyal to betray me—and Voldemort expects me to betray Sirius. He claims that doing so would serve the Wizarding World. _James felt sick, and knew the truth. _Sirius would do it. But I cannot. Even if it were for the best, I could not. _

_No matter what the future brings._

-------------

His eyes flew open in the darkness, and Sirius gasped for air. It felt like cold fingers were gripping his throat, and he had to struggle against the instinctive need to scream. Shaking, Sirius forced himself into a sitting position and fought for control. It had only been a nightmare. Nothing more. Just a nightmare.

_Am I?_ the cold voice asked, and Sirius almost tumbled off of the bed in surprise. He shivered.

"Go away," he said to the air, needing to hear the words aloud. But it was a weak response, and Voldemort laughed.

_I will never 'go away,' _he responded matter-of-factly. _I will never leave you. I am here until you surrender…or until you die._

"Or until _you _die," Sirius shot back, climbing out of bed. He needed to move.

More laughter.

Sirius did not bother to turn on the light, mostly because he knew Voldemort expected him to, in order to try to combat the darkness inside his soul. But Sirius was at home in the darkness; he had been for years. Besides, the moon provided enough light through the giant skylights. He was in the Old Suite in the Main Villa, where every luxury was extended to those who led the Aurors. Not like that mattered at the moment—Sirius only cared that there was enough room to pace in the spacious quarters.

Pacing helped to calm his frazzled nerves a little. The silence, however, did not. Even the echoes of the Dark Lord's laughter had faded, leaving Sirius in utter stillness. The only sound came from the soft patter of his bare feet on the polished wood floor, and Sirius was loathe to admit that the stillness unnerved him. Someone else might have interpreted Voldemort's silence as absence, but he knew better. Sirius could feel the Dark Lord lurking on the fragile edges of his consciousness.

"What do you want?" he demanded. The answer was immediate.

_You, Sirius. Just you_.

"No."

_No?_

"You do not own me."

_Do I not? _Soft, almost gentle, laughter. _What of my Mark burned into your arm?_

Pain engulfed him before Sirius could reply, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping in agony and trying not to scream. His body convulsed, and his head smacked against the hard wood as he struggled for control. For a moment, Sirius blacked out completely, and then came to with a start, wheezing for air and forcing the pain back. But effort was not enough, and he heard the laughter in his mind—fight as he might, Sirius knew that he was completely at Voldemort's mercy.

Then abruptly, the pain stopped, as if the Dark Lord could read his mind. _Maybe…_ He clambered to his feet.

"Flesh and blood only," he snarled, "Not heart or soul."

There was only cold laughter, but he felt the link strengthen. No, Voldemort could not hear his thoughts…but he could read him like a book. _No. Not quite._ He could read pain and despair. And he could use them.

Finality sunk in. Voldemort was right. He had won.

_It is over, my friend._

He was staring out the window, staring and shaking. Clinging to the windowsill didn't seem to help, either. He had fought so hard and so long…and all for nothing. His heart, which had carried him so far, was no longer his own. Deny it all might—there was nothing left. No chance. It was over.

"No."

The word escaped before he meant to speak, and it startled Sirius as much as it startled Voldemort. _No?_

"_No._"

Pain almost made him black out, but somehow he stayed on his feet. He felt the attack tear in on him, but it felt strangely distant, strangely unreal. Sirius stumbled into the windowsill and caught himself, seeing stars. _Breathe in. Breathe out. _And Voldemort was amused by his defiance.

_You cannot win, Sirius. Not now._

He shook his head. The words wheezed in his throat. "I can. I will."

Soft laughter, almost genuinely sad. _You will never be powerful enough._

"I am stronger than you think."

_Yes, you are strong, _came the matter-of-fact reply. _But not strong enough. Men like you never are._

"Never?" Sirius challenged. Even when the years of pain had ground him down most, his instinctive defiance had persevered, and now it raised his ugly head again. No one had ever taught Sirius to give in—Voldemort had tried, but the lesson simply hadn't stuck.

_What _you _are cannot resist what _I _am._

"I will." The words came out without thinking.

_What?_

He felt cold.

"I will become what you are."

  


---------------

  


Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Stay tuned for chapter 26 around next Sunday or Monday (I'll be underway until then). If you haven't gone to the Unbroken Universe Group (check my profile) and entered the contest, please do so fast. The deadline is 10 August!


	26. Chapter 26: Fear Driven

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fear Driven

Generally speaking, the Weasley twins had a rule about getting up before dawn. Unless the purpose was pranking or otherwise full of mischief and/or mayhem, waking could certainly wait. Sleep, after all, was one of the most important things in the world: it provided energy and imagination, traits that no one would deny that Fred and George Weasley had in abundance. They were Hogwarts legends because of those qualities, and the two nurtured them whenever possible. Especially through sleeping late.

Some things, however, were more important than sleep. Even more important than pranks.

"Are you there, Lee?" Fred asked, his head sticking in the fire next to his twin's. The Burrow was eerily quiet in a way that it could only be when the entire Weasley clan was asleep. All but two, anyway.

"I'm here." The voice was muffled, but suddenly Lee Jordan's head came into view, twisting nervously from side to side.

"Sorry 'bout that," their friend apologized. "I thought I heard my Mum moving around upstairs."

Fred swallowed. The last thing they needed was the paranoid and frightened Mrs. Jordan to catch Lee with his head in the fire, especially since she was determined to keep her son away from _all _magic—including his Wizarding friends. "We can call back—"

"No, we'd better talk now. I'm pretty sure she's asleep," Lee cut him off.

"All right, then," George nodded, then glanced at his twin. The pair hesitated for a split second, each reading indecision in the other's eyes, but they were ready. George continued: "Look, Lee, I know we don't have much time, but we've got a plan."

"If it includes getting me out of here, I'm all for it," Lee replied immediately.

"It does," George replied. "Assuming you want to go back to Hogwarts."

"Are you kidding? I'd give up my Cleansweep Nine to go back!"

"Didn't your Mum take that?" Fred wondered curiously, his mind racing. _Now _that's_ an idea…_

"No, I managed to trick her into thinking that Dad's old Shooting Star was mine, so she burned that one," Lee replied with a grin. "It was a close one, though. But what's that have to do with your plan?"

"Well, we figure if we can get you to Hogwarts, Professor Lupin won't make you go home," Fred explained.

"You're safer there, anyway," George added. "No matter what your mum thinks."

"Yeah, except for the fact that she won't let me _near _anything magical," Lee reminded them. "She won't let me out of her sight if you two arrive."

Fred snickered. "That, my friend, is where your friendly neighborhood Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble comes in." He grinned. "Explain, George."

"Gladly." His twin offered Fred a half-bow, the most he could manage with his head in the fire. "When the time comes for us lowly students to board the Hogwarts Express, Ron and Ginny will stage a distraction—did we mention that our innocent little sister has proven very useful lately?—because our Mum will never let us out if she knew what we were planning, either."

"And while our darling siblings, aided and abetted by Harry and Hermione, distract the multitude of parents—"

"We will steal the car," George finished.

Lee scowled as if the twins had lost what little sanity they still possessed. "What?"

"And come get you," Fred clarified solemnly.

"You'll get caught for sure. Can you even drive?" their friend demanded. George only grinned.

"Don't need to."

"Huh?"

"We're stealing the car," George explained. "Dad's car."

Lee stared back blankly, and Fred finally took pity on him.

"Dad's flying Ford Anglia, that is."

------------

"Morning, Dad."

"Mornin', Neville," Frank replied absently, his mind focused on one thing and one thing alone: coffee. Strong and black coffee.

The pot, fortunately, was full, and someone kissed him on the cheek as Frank helped himself to his first cup of many. "You look horrible, darling."

Frank grunted, cast a mild Cooling Charm on the steaming liquid, and guzzled it. He didn't care that coffee was considered by most of his countrymen (and most of his family, truth be told) to be woefully un-British. What he cared about was caffeine, taste, and the wonderful smell. And the caffeine. There were some things that Wake Up Charms and tea simply couldn't do.

Only when he'd finished with the cup did he feel even vaguely human—it had been a horribly long two days, and sleeping hadn't seemed to do much for him. Every bone in his body ached, and things weren't about to get any better. Frank was due to return to Avalon around lunchtime, right after Alice finished meeting with the Ministry to establish the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's next step.

"Thanks, Alice," he finally replied, pouring himself a second cup. "You sure know how to make a man blush."

She giggled, but there were dark circles under her eyes, too. "I do try."

"When do you leave?" Frank didn't bother to cool this cup; he wanted to enjoy the feeling of hot liquid pouring down his throat.

"In an hour or so," she replied with a shrug. "I didn't mean to be up so early, and wouldn't have been if the _Prophet's _stupid delivery owl hadn't smacked into the window. I think Neville forgot to open it again."

"Mum!" Their son scowled as he looked up from the Quidditch section. "I told you, it was the ghost."

Frank leaned against the counter, snickering. "Which one?"

"Y'know. _The _Ghost," Neville replied. "That one."

"Oh, yes. Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here." Frank rolled his eyes. "That…_gentleman_ is becoming a bit of a nuisance."

"No kidding," Alice agreed. "I've just about pinned him down as one of the minor Aggripa brothers. But there were so bloody many of them that I have no idea which one of the bas—" Frank kicked her. "Ouch!"

He smiled angelically, and Neville ignored them. "The Arrows won," he commented. "150 to 70."

"So, how about breakfast?" Frank chuckled, taking his own hint. "I'm starving."

"I was getting to that," Alice objected.

"You?" he snorted. "You would burn Glen Ridge down!"

"More like turn eggs into rocks," Neville mumbled, and Frank choked back laughter.

"Don't worry, Neville," he assured his son. "I'll save you from your Mum's cooking. He brandished his wand with a flourish. "So, what shall the Magnificent Chef create for today?"

"_AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE__!"_

"Goddammit!" Alice swore, grabbing her wand. "I'm going to kill that ghost!"

"Ouch!" Neville twisted in his chair, grabbing at transparent hands. "Stop throwing things at me!"

Frank fired off a spell and missed; Alice's attempt made a cupboard's doors burst open and a stack of bowls fly into the air. Neville dodged a flying frying pan and dove under the table, using language that Frank would have to remember to yell at him for later.

"Yowh!" A bowl smacked Alice on the head.

"Get out of my kitchen, you protoplasmic psychopath!" Frank shouted, just as Alice finally cornered Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here with a Ghost-Dispatching Spell. With a yowl, the irksome ghost disappeared.

"Finally," she breathed, brushing a tangled clump of brown hair out of her eyes. "I'm getting really sick of him."

Frank sighed. "He's getting worse," he agreed. "It's not even _slightly _amusing now."

"It never was," his wife replied sourly.

"_That_," Neville said, crawling out form under the table, "is a perfect example of why the Decree Against Underage Wizardry is completely stupid."

"Times like this, I have to agree," Alice nodded, shoving her wand into a pocket and bending to pick up the scattered bowls. "We need to hire an exterminator."

"I think Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here outdates the Resident Ghouls and Ghost Relocation Policy."

"You've got to be joking." Neville groaned. At the same time, Alice glared at Frank.

"Will you stop calling him that?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, then turned back to the subject, picking up a pair of bowls and handing them to Alice. "Unfortunately, though, I'm not joking. The oldest ghouls and ghosts got grandfathered into the policy."

"Ministry stupidity at it again."

"Neville!" Alice chided.

"What, Mum?" he asked innocently. "It's not like I'm lying."

Alice groaned. "A child of cynics."

"Of hungry cynics," Frank replied. "Breakfast before he comes back."

------------

"I hate Ministry meetings," James groused, making Lily snort.

"You think _you _do? I've been doing this for five years." She poked him in the stomach. "At least you got to hide out as an Auror."

"Hiding. Right."

They wheeled and walked into the conference room side by side. James had convinced The Founder's Inn to host this meeting, and prayed that Voldemort wouldn't decide that this was an opportune time to attack. The Founder's Inn was an old Wizarding retreat, though no one seemed to remember which "founder" it was named for. Still, it had a nice conference room, and the owner had been tickled to host the Minister of Magic and his department heads. James only hoped that she wouldn't live—or die—to regret it.

The Potters were the last to arrive, and the seated ministers rose politely as they did. Quickly, James ran his eyes around the table, noticing how few people seemed to want to sit by Alice Longbottom—was that a sign of mistrust in the Aurors? Peter sat to her left, but Peter had never cared about appearances. On her right, however, was Amos Diggory from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he looked thoroughly miserable. Facing Diggory was Marcy Basil of Transportation, but across from Alice was Fudge, and if _that _did not hold significance, James was a teacup. Nathaniel Adams of Games and Sports sat to Fudge's right, looking perfectly comfortable in such a position, something that did not surprise the Minister nearly as much as it disappointed him. In the far corner, at Adams' right and next to the wall was Lachlan Pritchard of the Department of Mysteries, wearing a distracted and distant expression. That, however, was to be expected. Lachlan had started his career as an Unspeakable, and was still one of the most famous wizards in the field. That, however, said nothing for his social skills.

Their eyes were watching him warily, waiting for their leader to act or to crack up—and in all fairness to his subordinates, James could not fault them for the feeling. Although most of them had finally gotten their first good night's sleep in over two days, dark circles still decorated many faces, either from exhaustion or stress.

Personally, James was still feeling both, and he had a far heavier weight to bear than any of the others. He cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming," the Minister said quietly, wheeling up to the smooth mahogany table. "I understand the risks you have taken by doing so, and I will try to make this short. Please, sit down."

No one spoke as they complied, with Lily sliding into the seat at James' left. Arthur sat to his right, looking strained—_still?_ James desperately wanted to ask what was bothering his deputy, but there was no time. No time for many things.

"I asked you to meet this morning for several reasons," James continued, "foremost of which is _where we go from here_. We have been hit hard, but there can be no looking back. Diagon Alley was three days ago. We must move forward."

Nathaniel Adams frowned heavily. "I dislike the callous way you are dismissing those who died and suffered in the attack."

"So do I." James looked him in the eye. "But we must. If we do not go on from here, what does that make us? What kinds of leaders allow grief to overcome judgment and forget about their obligations to the living?"

"Obligations," Marcy Basil pointed out quietly, "that we have been unable to fulfill."

Seeing agreement on many faces, James knew he had to get in fast. "We haven't failed yet," he reminded the others. "And we won't, so long as we keep fighting."

"But how do you defeat someone who is willing to do _that_?" Amos Diggory asked plaintively.

"Through teamwork." Surprisingly, it was Peter who spoke, making heads turn. "With heart."

Arthur nodded. "You cannot forget that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was _driven _away. Yes, he hurt many, and hurt them badly, but he did not do so unopposed. We are not without hope. As Peter says, teamwork and heart will take us far."

"And so will hope," Alice Longbottom interjected quietly. She was the only non-department head in the room (aside from Lily, who was simply James' _secretary_), yet was possibly the most serene person present, despite Adams' hostile glares. "For years, our world has waited for a hero, for one hero, to save us all. By now, though, I think we all now know that _one_ individual cannot cause victory or defeat. We must stand together. We must hope together. And we must fight together. Alone, we will all suffer the fate of the innocents in Diagon Alley."

"But we do have a hero, Alice, m'dear." Only when Fudge spoke did James realize that his rival had so far been strangely quiet. But now the silver-haired wizard's eyes were gleaming. "One who can end the war single-handedly."

Peter frowned. "I believe you are putting too much weight on the shoulders of one man. Sirius has given—"

"Oh, I don't mean _that_." Fudge's smile was blinding, but when he turned to face James, his eyes became cold. "I am speaking of a letter that our dear Minister of Magic received. One which gives him the power to end the suffering. Forever."

James went numb.

Distantly, he heard Lily demanded, " How do you know about that?"

"My dear Lily, I cannot—" One of the others cut him off.

"What letter?" Adams demanded.

"From whom?" Marcy wanted to know.

"He does not keep his promises," a harsh voice interjected. "If it's from Voldemort, no good will come from this."

As James' frozen mind thawed, the first sight he registered was Peter's pale face—he'd been a Death Eater for too long not to understand. And he'd been a Marauder for even longer.

Peter's right hand was clutching convulsively at his left sleeve.

"You received a letter from the Dark Lord?" Diggory asked suspiciously.

"I did." Finally, James found his voice, but Fudge's slight smile made him want to scream. "However, unlike the esteemed Minister for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," he paused to glare at Fudge. "I do not consider this a viable solution."

"I believe that it offers a long-awaited opportunity to end the war," the other replied, folding his hands smugly.

"I do not." James wished that he could stand and tower over his subordinates, but his disability kept him from doing it. "And unless you are all of a mind to remove me from office, my decision stands."

"Oh, no," Fudge purred. "We would never do that. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might not offer such generous terms to someone not so…pure."

Lily's emerald eyes flashed, and James saw Pritchard frown angrily, finally revealing that he was listening. Marcy, on the other hand, flushed red with fury—the newer and traditionally half-blood families had always been disgusted by the Fourteen. _And there are times when I don't blame them at all._

"And what terms are these?" Pritchard demanded before Lily could snap at Fudge.

The head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes only smiled. Across the table, Alice looked ready to stab her quill through his eye—she'd break it at any moment if she didn't loosen her grip. Peter, to Alice's left, steadfastly ignored Fudge, keeping his anxious eyes glued to James' face. Wormtail didn't have to ask. Wormtail could guess.

"Voldemort _claims_ that he will end the war if we give him what he wants," James replied quietly, knowing that he could avoid it no longer.

"What does he want?" Marcy asked warily. Peter answered.

"He wants Sirius."

"Yes. He does." James took a deep breath, letting his gaze drift around the table, watching shock form on some faces, and thoughtful indecision on others. In a flash, he knew what the next minutes would bring. Fudge would gather support by reminding everyone what they had lost and feeding fears—he had much to remind them of, and they had much to lose. And even those who were supposed to be strong knew fear. Each one of them had a good heart, wanted what was best for the Magical world…but they could fear. Fudge knew that, and would use it. Then the tide would turn, and Sirius would die.

For nothing.

He had few moments to spare. "While I would gladly," James began softly, "sacrifice myself to save others, I cannot order another man to do so—especially when that _one _man is the only hope we have."

"But what if we can end the war?" Diggory asked desperately.

Alice snorted. "What if we _can't_?"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does not keep his promises," Arthur suddenly interjected. "We know this by now. This has to be a trap."

"And if it isn't?" Adams countered.

"Do you really believe that?" Alice demanded.

"Well, no, but—"

"But isn't it our duty to do everything we can?" Fudge interrupted reasonably. "Isn't this a chance we have to take?"

------------

There were only three of them in the room, and Severus supposed that he should have been honored by the company. Few were privileged enough to belong to this inner of inner circles, to the small group that the Dark Lord trusted most of all. Of course, Voldemort trusted no one completely—Severus often suspected that he trusted those closest to him more from necessity than desire, for everyone knew that these three insiders had their own problems.

Lucius looked shaky, as well he should. Summoned far earlier than the others, the senior Malfoy had paid the price for his sister's betrayal. Had he been a lesser Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy would not have lived to see dawn. Of that, Severus was sure, but Lucius was far too influential for even the Dark Lord to kill, not because Voldemort feared to do so, but because Lucius still had his uses. That, and while Severus suspected that Lucius knew more than he admitted to about Julia's fast escape, he certainly hadn't known about her betrayal before anyone else.

_There goes another spy that I helped recruit_, Severus thought darkly. _At least this one isn't dead. Yet. I wonder when my turn will come up._

Such dark thoughts were easy to think when Bellatrix Lestrange was the other occupant of the room; something about Bella just exuded dark power—when she wasn't preoccupied with acting like a psychopath. She was dangerous, perhaps even more so than Lucius, but many forgot how powerful she was because Bella rarely displayed that power. Instead, she reveled in torture, in pain, and left others wondering exactly what she was capable of. Severus, however, did not need to wonder. He knew.

The door clicked open, and without bothering to look, all three Death Eaters knelt. No one else would dare intrude upon _these_ three, and they recognized their Lord's footsteps soon enough. The door swung shut behind him, and they waited patiently to be told to rise.

Finally, one pale-fingered hand beckoned, and Severus straightened with the others. Cold red eyes studied them in silence for a long moment, gauging and thinking and planning. He always did. Voldemort was nothing if not brilliant.

"Has the Order of the Phoenix met yet, Severus?" As usual, the first question was not the one he had been expecting.

"No, My Lord," he replied honestly. "Though I do not understand why."

"The leaders of the Ministry of Magic, however, have." The burning gaze cut to Lucius. "Something that I believe _you _were tasked with preventing."

Lucius knelt. "I humbly beg My Lord's forgiveness," he said, head bowed. No one bothered to mention that Lucius had spent the night there on Azkaban, and could not have acted. Such excuses mattered not in their world. "I have failed to—"

"It has been dealt with," Voldemort cut him off.

"My Lord?"

The red eyes shifted again. "Explain, Bella."

"Yes, Master." She giggled, a lazy smile drifting across her face. "They are meeting to discuss the contents of a letter Jimmy Potter received. He, of course, wanted to keep it quiet, but I had a friendly chat with Cornelius Fudge about it."

_Jimmy?_ Severus couldn't help thinking. Bellatrix was smirking at Lucius, now, who glared back irritably.

"Do rise, Lucius," their Lord said, drawing the antagonists' attention. "I want them to meet. I want them to fight. And I want them to shatter."

Something in that voice made alarms screech in Severus' head. "May we inquire, My Lord, what the contents of the letter are?"

For a moment, he thought that he would be cursed on the spot, but apparently Voldemort's good mood was holding. The smile was slight. "You will find out soon enough."

"Yes, Master." Snape knew better than to press. Bella giggled again.

"I called the three of you here for another matter," the Dark Lord continued coldly. "Hogwarts."

"My Lord?" Lucius spoke, for which Severus was grateful, because his heart was firmly lodged in his throat.

"The term begins shortly. By that time, I want a plan to infiltrate and wrest the school from the werewolf's hands," Voldemort ordered. "Lucius, you will prepare to attack the school in mid-September."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Hogwarts has long eluded me," the Dark Lord continued dangerously. "That tradition _will _end."

------------

Daylight felt like a blessing when it streamed through the skylights. Although he'd seen many dawns, had even laid on his back and stared at a good number of them, this one felt different. It felt more…meaningful. Or perhaps symbolic was the right word. He had challenged the darkness and won. It was high time for the sun.

Sirius sat up slowly, wishing that his body didn't feel so heavy with exhaustion. He'd slept little until near day break, and a rain squall had followed the storm, hiding the sun until past noon, when he'd finally decided that it was time to move. Two days of rest were enough, even if it hadn't been entirely restful, but Poppy Pomfrey didn't need to know that. As far as Sirius was concerned, his inner battles would remain right where they had started: inside. If Pomfrey realized that he'd had Voldemort bouncing around in his head, she'd declare him insane and never let him out of bed again. Besides, he had other problems to deal with today.

Easing himself into a sitting position, Sirius tried not to growl in irritation. He was still stiff, and still slow…and it still felt like a lead weight had been chained to his soul. He had won the battle, yes, but the war had yet to be decided.

_To hell with that_. Sirius stood, ignoring his body's creaks and snaps of protest. Pulling on a set of midnight blue Auror's robes that someone had thoughtfully set out for him, he dressed almost by instinct, and found his wand the same way. Within moments, Sirius was largely presentable, and his growling stomach told him where he would be heading first.

A slight smile creased Sirius' face. Being hungry had to be a good sign, if not for any reason deeper than the fact that it was the first _normal _thought he'd had in days…and this was possibly the first time he had felt even vaguely like himself. There were still echoes in his mind, corners filled with darkness—but memories of that sort had lived inside him for years, and Sirius was well acquainted with hell. That, he could handle.

But he paused in the doorway, and found himself taking a deep breath. He did not want to…but he had to.

For the second time, Sirius _looked _at his left forearm. He stood, for a long moment, simply taking in the dark outline of the Mark, letting his eyes see what his heart had memorized line by line. He was still almost afraid to look, still almost believed that seeing the Mark would make it real. But there was no denying the truth, which Sirius had known all along, even if he hadn't wanted to. He could not avoid the Mark, could not hide it, could not lie. However, there was a chance that he could fight it, as he had in the dark hours of the previous night's storm. Sirius had _won _that battle, somehow, and today the Mark felt a little easier to bear because of that. Maybe, he reasoned, resistance weakened Voldemort's hold. Or maybe he had just had grown numb to the taint in his soul.

Another deep breath, and he had to get out. Resolutely, Sirius walked to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hallway. From there, a half dozen steps took him out the front entrance of the Main Villa. There, he emerged into sunlight and warmth, and felt the pressure upon him lift, just a little. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot, but at least the feeling was something.

His stomach growled again, and Sirius headed around the end of the building and in through the second set of doors. He hadn't had to walk outside at all, really, to reach the dining hall, but it had felt good. However, as his hungry insides grew more insistent, Sirius headed for the food, having no idea what he would find there.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: I'm underway again for the week, so I won't be around too much, but I'm almost done with PR27. Look for it when I get back!


	27. Chapter 27: Death Before Dishonor

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Death Before Dishonor

He was halfway through the sandwich when Frank Longbottom walked through the half-open kitchen doorway, his wide-shouldered build obscuring the view of the wheelchair bound wizard behind him. Sirius, however, would have known that voice anywhere.

"I told you that we'd find him here, Frank," James said too cheerfully. "Eating. And eating. And eating. As usual."

"James!" The sandwich dropped to the counter, completely forgotten. Immediately, Sirius moved forward several stiff steps, and then he stopped. There was something wrong in James' voice…and he was almost positive that he knew what.

He swallowed.

"Hello, Sirius," his friend said evenly. Between them, Frank studied both faces for less than a second, then nodded a nervous half smile at both and quickly left the kitchen. They needed to be alone.

The two stood in awkward silence for a long moment, not knowing what to say or do. Though they who had been as close as brothers for over two decades, the pair now looked upon one another as mistrustful strangers, not understanding and not willing to believe… Sirius fought against the urge to bite his lip. There was no use denying the truth. He could try to hide, but the effort would only hurt his friends in the end.

"You want to know why I did not tell you," Sirius whispered.

"Tell me?" Confusion flickered across James' drawn features. "No, I understand that you didn't have time… Wait. What are you saying?"

Sirius forced a deep breath. Saying the words a second time was no easier than the first. "He forced the Mark upon me four years ago. It was just hidden."

"What?"

He bit his lip. Sirius had faced Voldemort without fear, had fought back the Dark Lord's cold grip on his soul, but the disappointment and hurt in his friend's eyes was enough to break him. His hands wanted to shake, and the left one _was _shaking, albeit as much as it could with the right clamped around its wrist. Slowly and distinctly, Sirius nodded.

"You're not serious." James' face twisted with pain. "You can't be."

"I am."

For once, just once, he would have given anything to do the right thing, to have the right words to say, to be exactly what his friends needed him to be. But Sirius was still his same flawed self, with the same stupid pride and making the same stupid mistakes. Now, though, those mistakes would not end with expulsion from Hogwarts or strong words for which one could apologize later. No, this mistake ended in betrayal and broken promises.

"Then you were right," James said hollowly. "I do want to know."

Sirius hesitated, and long moments ticked by. He knew what had to be said, but somehow could not bring himself to do it. So he hesitated, and it could have been one of the worst mistakes he had ever made.

"Why didn't you _tell _us?" his friend whispered brokenly.

"Because I couldn't," he finally answered.

Hazel eyes stared at him. "Why not?"

"Because I couldn't bear to have you give me the look you're giving me now," Sirius responded miserably. He felt like his world had fallen apart. "Because I couldn't deal with the memories if you knew that he had forced it upon me, that I hadn't fought had enough, or long enough…and that all I am has become a lie. That it always has been."

"You…" James gaped, and for a long moment, Sirius feared that the confusion on his face would melt into anger. "You aren't a lie."

He snorted bitterly, and pried his right hand away from the Mark. Almost definitely, Sirius yanked his sleeve away and brandished it as his friend. "Am I not?"

"Merlin, Sirius…" James rolled forward until they were almost face to face. "You are everything that I wish I could be. You have given so much, and gained so little… How could you call yourself that?"

"There are some things…" He sucked in a shuddering breath. "That I don't know if even you can understand."

"I can try."

_Can you?_ Even without James' anger, without that look of betrayal on his face, Sirius wasn't sure. _Can you understand the battle that I fight in the darkness, understand how it feels to have to struggle to keep your_ _soul out of someone else's grasp? Can you understand that it wasn't _meant _to be this way, and that I don't know if I can do this when the end comes? Can you really understand?_

Those words, however, were the type that shattered friendships. And no matter how bitter he was, no matter how scarred Sirius was inside, he could never say them. Even if James had deserved to hear them, which he did not, Sirius could not break something so precious. The four of them had stood together for over twenty years: flaws, misunderstandings, and all. He would not break the brotherhood unless he had to. Until he had to. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath.

"I know. And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you." Sirius bit his lip again, and whispered: "I just wanted to forget."

"I understand." James nodded, but his face remained drawn. "And there is something that I should also tell you."

Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach, and Sirius felt his shoulders stiffen. "That doesn't sound good."

"It isn't," James replied grimly. "I received a letter last night…"

As his friend told the tale, Sirius watched his face more closely than he listened to James' words. The words hardly mattered—a corner of his soul had expected them, really, for quite some time. He didn't know why. He didn't know how. But there was no surprise in facing what you had always known must come.

There was only silence, bittersweet and betrayed silence. No—not betrayal from a friend, but betrayal from a world that Sirius had very nearly sacrificed everything to save, because what had began in an effort to protect his friends had become a quest to save the world. He knew why James had come, why James had to speak these words _now. _This truly was a day of revelations, of lies, and finally of truths. Both men had too much to share, too much to hide. Friends they were, brothers, yes, but barriers were trying to grow between them. Barriers that neither man wanted.

_And so it comes._

"Had there been a vote," James finished very quietly, "I know which way it would have gone. As it stands, I am not without power to stop such an injustice."

"I would have done it," Sirius replied softly. "If you thought it was for the best."

Those words were frighteningly easy to say, and James seemed to sense that. For the slimmest of moments, Sirius thought he saw fear flash in his friend's eyes, and it would have hurt if he had not known his friend so well. James would never fear for himself, but for his family, for his world…for that, even the strongest of wizards could fear. And James had more to lose than Sirius ever would.

"I know," the Minister finally said. "But that…" He stopped, seemed to change his mind. "It wouldn't be right. And it wouldn't work."

"No. It would not."

The relief on James' face was plain.

"You thought I might go." Sirius forced himself to blink instead of staring. "You feared I would believe him."

"I…"

_Run if you dare. This is not over._

Darkness reached for him, more from within his soul than from without. Yet the words came not from memory, even if the pain did. Sirius felt his eyes zero in on something in the distance, staring through James, through the walls, past the world that he lived in and into one he could not escape. Yes, there were demons in the dark, and they haunted him still. He knew that those feelings were reflected on his face, knew that his pained distance was the reason why James suddenly hesitated. But there was more to life than darkness. He had not forgotten. And he would not run.

"I know, James," he whispered. "And I know why. You don't have to explain."

"I'm sorry," his friend replied, almost pleading for understanding. Somehow, Sirius found it within himself to smile.

"So am I." Surprise flickered in the other's hazel eyes, but he continued. "I'm sorry that I _would _go, if I thought I had to…and break our friendship by doing so. I'm sorry that I've become something that none of us ever would have wanted to be."

"You…you're a hero, Sirius."

"I never wanted to be one." The words escaped before he could even think about them, let alone stop them. "I never meant…for things to be like this."

_Because it's my choices that may very well destroy our friendship._

_It's my choices that will kill my friends._

Suddenly, James' hand was tight on his elbow. "We know, Padfoot," he said gently. "Remus, Peter, and I, we understand. We always have."

"I wish I could understand."

"I think you do understand," his oldest friend replied. "I think you understand all too much."

Sirius swallowed.

"I can't pretend to know your demons, Sirius. I can't claim to understand the darkness that you carry around inside you, or the hells you have been through. But I can be here. I can stand by you.

"And I will," James said. "We all will. Come what may, and no matter how this ends, the Marauders will stand together. We won't leave you to face this alone…even if that means we must die beside you."

"James…"

"Don't say it. You don't have to. Whatever else we may be, we are brothers. We are loyal until the end."

* * *

The last person Peter expected to see that morning was standing on his doorstep. Never mind that he had _expected_ to see Remus Lupin, who was a longtime friend and was certainly welcome. The man staring back at him, however, was neither a friend nor welcome—in the slightest.

"Can I help you, Severus?" he managed to say before his voice could turn into a squeak. How was it, that after so many years, Snape could _still _have that effect on him? He was a grown man, not a little boy whom Slytherins loved to terrorize! Moreover, he'd defied the Dark Lord, had made his own choices and his own life. Why was it that Snape's presence could still make him tremble?

"You can _help_ me by not making me stand on your doorstep all afternoon long," the Death Eater replied acidly. "May I come in?"

Peter blinked. "Yes. Of course."

_Of course NOT_, but he couldn't really say that. It simply wasn't polite.

At least Snape looked uncomfortable standing in Peter's flat. Exceedingly uncomfortable, in fact. He wasn't even sneering, which had to be a landmark event—did Snape ever _not _sneer? Peter couldn't remember him having done so. Certainly not at Hogwarts, though it had always been hard to tell through his Death Eater's mask… Peter dragged himself out of his reverie with an effort. Snape was talking.

"…in danger."

Peter jumped, then tried to sound like he'd been paying attention. "I beg your pardon?"

"Were you even listening to me, Peter?" Snape asked testily.

"Well no, as a matter of fact, I was not," Peter retorted. "I was contemplating something else."

"Well, as a _matter of fact_"—Now he did sneer—"you _might _be interested in what I was attempting to tell you."

"And why is that?" Peter demanded.

"Because you're in danger, Pettigrew."

"What?"

Oh, he wished that his voice hadn't chosen _now _to squeak, for Merlin's sake! He was years past puberty, and he had no reason to fear Snape. He could face almost anyone without flinching (Voldemort excluded, but even in that regard, he had come a long way), but somehow, Snape was different. He had too many memories concerning this man to _forget_. Even if he could forgive.

"I came to warn you," the other repeated. "That the Dark Lord never forgets."

_Shit._

Peter could only stare.

"Or so I was told." Snape shrugged slightly. "I believe, personally, that he is using your defiance and subsequent betrayal as an excuse."

"An excuse?" Peter echoed.

Snape's dark eyes bored into his. "Think."

"You've lost me."

"The _prophecy, _Pettigrew." Snape rolled his eyes. "The one I know Julia told all four of you about."

The prophecy that was eerily similar to a poem written by a still-innocent boy, fourteen years before.

"And he thinks that's us."

Snape snorted. "Can you honestly say that prophecy can apply to anyone else?"

"Well, no." Somehow, Peter managed to smile slightly. "But what does this have to do with me? I'd expect V-Voldemort to concentrate on Sirius. Or James. Or even Remus. Not me…yet."

"Yet?" One dark eyebrow rose. "The prophecy refers to four, not three. Not even one. Therefore, by breaking _one_, by eliminating _one_, the Dark Lord believes that he can defeat the prophecy."

"And I'm the easiest target." Something cold settled in his stomach, and Peter fought the urge to swallow. He would not show weakness. Not _now_.

"You are." At least Snape didn't pull any punches.

"So why are you warning me?" he had to ask.

"Would you rather I not?"

"No."

Then the other sighed. "I tell you, Peter, because I know our world needs you. _All _of you. No matter what happens."

Peter swallowed as Snape's eyes met his, and for once, there was no barrier between them. There was only truth, and perhaps, a slender spark of hope. His old enemy continued.

"I am not an idealist. I am not a dreamer. But I believe that the four of you, together, can not be broken."

* * *

"This will split the Wizarding World, you know," Sirius said quietly, still leaning against the fence. "Fudge won't keep it quiet, and the fact that you forced them… It might be best if you just let me do it."

"_What_?"

He held up a hand before his friend could shout any louder. "Listen, James…I don't necessarily think it would work, but failure might be better than letting him manipulate us this way."

James stared up at Sirius, his face chalk white. "You'd die."

"I don't think so." _How can I be so calm?_ "He needs to break me before he can kill me. Otherwise, I'll win."

"Dead men don't win, Sirius."

And even James couldn't quite see it. Not like this, and not any more. Sirius swallowed. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"You're not… Promise me you won't try," James said quickly. "We need you."

For a moment, Sirius contemplated refusing to promise, saying that you never knew what might come, or what you might need to do…but the pain in James' eyes stopped him. So did imagining what Peter and Remus would say. Finally, he sighed.

"This might shatter us, you know. Our world."

"I know," James replied sadly. "But there is no justice in doing what is wrong simply because it is easy. The rest of the world will see that, in time."

"In time."

* * *

"He is on Avalon, My Lord," the Death Eater said, head bowed. In the flickering lamplight, the individual's face could not be seen, but the voice definitely masculine. However, his was not a voice that even Lucius Malfoy recognized, which set the senior Death Eater's teeth on edge.

The only consolation was that Bellatrix Lestrange looked just as mystified, and she seemed a great deal angrier about it. _Well, it's nice to know that even _she _doesn't know everything_, he thought irritably. As much as he respected Bellatrix's powers—and, for better or worse, was her brother-in-law—Lucius disliked her close…_relationship_ with the Dark Lord. In his opinion, it was entirely too close.

"Avalon…" The soft voice faded off into a hiss. "Mysterious Avalon… The Isle of Magic."

Lucius saw the figure tense. "My Lord?"

"Have you not ever heard of it, traitor?" the Dark Lord continued, and Lucius felt a shiver run down his own spine. Why, he could not quite place, but still…

"No, My Lord."

Soft laughter. "Such a shame. Here we have a dazzling example of some of the Wizarding World's oldest and purest families…yet no one knows. No one _remembers_."

Silence.

"No one." Red eyes scanned the group, and Lucius shivered again. "Not a one of you." Suddenly, the Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed. Laughed.

"Master—?" It was the foolish newcomer who dared.

_"Crucio!"_ A scream, a few seconds of pain, and then it was over. "Silence, _traitor_."

Lucius allowed himself a cool smile. Few made the mistake of interrupting their Lord, and fewer still made it twice. _Fool_.

Still, the newcomer's presence was significant, and so was Lucius' inability to identify him. By the senior Death Eater's count, this was the _sixth_ new recruit in the last week—in fact, this mystery man was the sixth since the attack on Diagon Alley. Unless, of course, he was a spy who the Dark Lord had been keeping hidden until now…but even then, his presence was important. Lord Voldemort rarely flaunted his power, but he was making a point. The Death Eaters' ranks were growing. And they were growing fast.

"I doubt even the Aurors realize, or remember…" the Dark Lord continued contemplatively. "Fools."

Even Bellatrix was staring, obviously trying to defeat her own curiosity. As usual, though, she wore every emotion on her face, and Lucius almost laughed again. Unfortunately, Lord Voldemort rarely punished his favorites. _As if that helped me_, he thought wryly. _Though it did save my life._

"Though it matters not. _You_—" one slender hand gestured menacingly at the newcomer—"will lead my Death Eaters there."

"But, My Lord, it is not—"

"You will make it possible," Voldemort cut him off coldly. "Or you will die."

The newcomer gaped. Lucius could see the expression in his body language, even when the face was covered. After a long moment, he managed to stutter, "Master, I might be able to lure him away…"

"And you think he is that foolish?" the Dark Lord laughed harshly. "I think not. You will either lead my Death Eaters to Avalon, or you will open the way."

"But…"

"Do you need another lesson, _traitor_, in what defiance costs?"

"No, My Lord!" Still, the wand came up, and Lucius shook his head minutely The new ones were always the most imprudent…even when reputation alone ought to have taught them better. "No—"

_"Crucio!"_

This time, the screams echoed off the stone walls, and even when the newcomer writhed on the floor, no one moved to help him. No one laughed, either, if simply because the Dark Lord's punishments were no laughing matter. They had all been there, and though pity would never unite them, understanding might. _Except for a select few.__ These fools will never understand me, nor do I _care _to understand them. Especially those who run to the Dark Lord simply because they think he might win._

Finally, the screams ended, though Lucius was left wondering how aware the newcomer was. For a long moment, he lay motionless on the stone floor, gasping for air and wheezing in pain, but then he surprised Lucius by rolling to his knees far quicker than most managed to do. And then the fool was smart enough to simply wait.

"Do you need another reminder, traitor?"

"No, Master." He wheezed, but was somehow demonstrating remarkable self-control, all the same. "I do not."

The calm tone of voice forced Lucius to reevaluate his opinion of the newcomer. Slightly. Very slightly.

"You will do as I ask."

"Yes, My Lord."

* * *

"Mum?" Harry asked quietly, making Lily's head turn. Her confident son rarely looked so sad, so worried. True, Harry often acted older than many boys his age, due to growing up during a war and being hunted by the most dangerous Dark Wizard in history, but he was not often like this. And he had never seemed as uncertain as he seemed now.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked quickly, trying not to sound _too _concerned—if Harry knew that he'd worried her, he'd close off and try to pretend that there wasn't anything bothering him at all. __

"I was thinking," he replied. "About going back to school, and about…y'know. The war."

_The war._It had come to the point when even twelve year old boys had to worry. Lily swallowed. "And?"

"Well, everything's changing. This time last year, things didn't seem so bad, but now things are different," he said. "And Hogwarts isn't safe, anymore, is it?"

"No." Whatever else came, she would _not _lie to him. Harry deserved so much better. "It isn't."

His shoulders slumped. "Then what's the point?" Harry demanded. "Why even go back?"

"Don't you trust Remus to keep the school safe?" she countered.

"Of course I trust him," her son said quickly. "But…"

"But what?" Lily softened her voice with an effort. "You fear for your friends."

He nodded. "I understand. I've grown up with the war, and I know the risks…" Harry bit his lip. "I think Ron and his family understand, too. But Hermione's Muggleborn, and there are so many others who don't deserve to…"

_To die._ But neither said it.

"I know, Harry," she said. "And there are dangers; I won't deny that. But we'll fight to protect them, and we'll win, in the end."

"I just wish I could do more."

"Me, too." Lily's managed a slight smile as she reached out to ruffle his hair. Harry shot her a cross look. "I think we all do."

"At least you can _do _something," he objected. "All I get to do is go back to Hogwarts and pretend as if nothing's wrong, as if I don't know what this war costs, or how many it's hurting. Because I'm just a _kid_."

"You are, you know," she said gently, then continued before he could object. "Someday, Harry, you'll have your own battles to fight, and you'll understand wanting to protect those you love."

Bitter green eyes met her own. "I already do understand."

"If you do, you know why I pray you will never play a part in this war," Lily replied. "And why, though the day may come when you will have to act, I will fight that day back as long as I can."

"Because you don't think I can handle it."

"No, Harry." She shook her head. "I know you could. I want to protect you because you're my son, and I want you to live your childhood long enough for it to matter in the man you will become."

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: I'm in town until Monday, when—you guessed it, I'm underway again. I apologize for the delay, but the Navy's been keeping me busy.


	28. Chapter 28: That Which Matters

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Eight: That Which Matters

She was standing alone on a street corner in the drizzle, bathed in warm light from the oncoming traffic and not paying attention to any of it. To her left, her erstwhile companion said something else in badly accented French, and she ignored him again. He'd been talking since he'd first spotted her during dinner in the small pub. Julia had been ignoring him for just as long.

Sighing, she waited for the light to change before crossing the street—Canadian drivers were terrible, especially in Montreal. She still had a hard time getting over why the Muggles in North America insisted on driving on the _wrong _side of the street; driving wasn't something that she claimed to know a lot about, but even witches knew which side of the road to drive on! Then again, given how everything on the dammed continent seemed to be just a little bit adjusted, only a tiny (but infuriating) bit different from home, this was hardly a surprise. At least this discrepancy was obvious.

The stranger followed her, still babbling in his horrendous French. She was posing as a Frenchwoman, of course, which was why he insisted on attempting to speak the language—Julia had already pretended not to know a word of English, which was, unfortunately, not as much use in Montreal as it would have been in, say, the United States. There, however, her accent would have completely given her away, whereas in Canada, she could pretend to be French with relative immunity. Unfortunately, most of the locals spoke French. Or tried to.

Julia kept walking, wishing that he'd just go away, or that she could find a way to hex him without anyone noticing. But she was avoiding Magical Canada just like she had avoided Magical Britain, and would continue to avoid the entire Wizarding world. She could blend in with Muggles—their world was the one place where Voldemort did not have spies. There, and only there, did she stand a chance of being safe.

She almost snorted out loud.

Safe.

Unnoticed.

Alone.

They were pretty much the same thing, and she did not like _any _of them, despite how she knew what she had to do. Julia was determined not to play the damsel in distress, not to let Voldemort use her against Sirius—and he would, if given half the chance. She loved her brother, but also knew him well. Lucius has saved her once. He would not do so a second time, so any saving that went on she would have to do herself.

So she walked down a dark Canadian street, alone except for a nauseating and obnoxious local who seemed to think that she had hair the color of moonlight and eyes the color of pale diamonds. Never mind that her eyes were gray. Facts didn't seem to disturb him.

But he did have black hair, just long enough to remind her painfully of one she loved and to whom she had not even been able to say goodbye. She had almost lost him once, had come painfully close…but now she was the one who had done the leaving, and she prayed that Sirius would understand. She didn't even dare write him a letter, for fear that it might be tracked, but the goodbye she had left with James was not enough. It could never be, and that thought burned within her. There were many things in life that had to be done. Few of them, however, hurt enough to break the heart.

Julia bit her lip. If there was one thing life had taught her, it was that Malfoys never cried.

* * *

"Fred! George!" Molly Weasley's voice echoed harshly throughout the Burrow. "Are you ready yet?"

Percy's floated up to them next. "What in the world is taking them so long? How hard can it be to—_ow_"

"Oh, sorry, Percy!" Ginny gushed. "Was that your foot?"

Ron stuck his head in the door. "You two better hurry up. Mum's about to get up here, and I don't think she'll take kindly to the fact that you're still trying to hide the fact that you've got three trunks instead of two."

Fred growled. "You got any better ideas?"

Ron shrugged, and all three boys stared at the trio of trunks decorating the floor of the twins' room. Late the night before, Fred and George had received Lee's school trunk through the Floo (they'd have brought Lee through, too, if they thought they could hide him), but now they had to figure out how to get the trunk into the car. Taking the trunk with them hadn't exactly been part of the plan, but Mrs. Jordan had threatened to burn it the night before, and they'd had to do _something._ It was bad enough that Lee didn't have any books or supplies for this year, but if he didn't have a trunk, Professor Fletcher was sure to send him home. They could share books, the twins figured, but robes were another matter altogether.

"I do," another voice piped up from behind Ron, making all three heads turn. It was Ginny.

"Oh, do you?" Ron asked irritably.

"Yup." She nodded, grinning. "I put _my _trunk in the car early this morning. It's under Ron's. I figure that if we distract Mum enough, she won't think much of me hauling down 'my' trunk. She's too pleased with Perfect Prefect Percy to notice six trunks instead of five."

Fred's frown turned into a smile. "Gin, you're brilliant."

"You'll make a Misfit yet," George added.

"She's our sister!" Ron objected.

"So?" Ginny countered. "Hermione's a girl, and _she's _a Misfit."

"She's not a very _good_ Misfit," Ron retorted.

"Will you two stop?" George demanded, just as their mother's voice floated up the stairs to them.

"What on _earth _is going on up there?" Then, more quietly, they heard her say: "Percy, go fetch them, or we'll be late."

Fred swore. "Quick, Ginny, grab the trunk—it's a good thing that Angelina threw Lee's trunk down the stairs last year, so it looks almost as battered as ours'—"

"Let's go!" George interrupted. "Go, Ron. Distract Percy—he's the nasty and nosey sort that'll notice that the trunk is the wrong shade of blue."

"Right."

And with that, Operation Free Lee swung into motion.

* * *

"As you all know, this coming term will be unlike any Hogwarts has ever experienced. Even at the height of Grindelwald's power, the school never faced such danger as it does now."

There. The words were said, and grim faces nodded in reply. To the last, every one of the professors had returned this term, even considering the risks inherent in doing so—and Remus had warned them, time and again. Although his professors drifted their separate ways during the holidays, the headmaster did stay in touch, and he had made sure that they understood what might come. Still, the words had to be said.

"However, we will carry on. Attendance is down a bit this year, but considering recent events, that's no surprise at all. Regardless, we have a good sized group of first-years, and we owe them the best we can give, dangers or no," Remus continued.

"Good training is even more important now that Voldemort's power is growing," Fletcher piped up. "And so are good _lessons_—I know we will lose a few students to darkness before the year is up. Some will choose," the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor said grimly. "But let's make that as few as possible."

"And let's make sure that we don't lose any to others' choices, either," Ted Tonks added. "Better they learn of the war here, where we will tell the truth, than at home where their parents will try to protect them."

"They are children," Professor Vector objected.

"That doesn't change the fact that the world is at war," the new Transfiguration teacher countered, and Remus shot Ted a grateful glance. "You can't run away from this. No one can." He smiled wryly. "That's a lesson I learned recently enough."

"And one that I _don't _want them learning through the death of a friend or family member," Remus said quietly, regaining control of the meeting. "We might anger some parents by telling the truth, but lying, no matter how noble the intention, is something we will not do."

The others nodded, though some were more reluctant to do so than others. Fortunately, they all knew Remus' policies, and the professors had already debated them a hundred times. There were no surprises here, and would not be—the pre-term meeting was, as always, simply a formality and an excuse to say hello. They'd eat dinner together that evening, and receive the students the next day—it was hard to believe that the summer had finally come to an end. The months since the attack on the Ministry of Magic had seemed to last two lifetimes, and Remus, for one, was glad to have his students coming back. There was once again purpose to his world, even if that meant danger, too.

A grave voice interrupted his musings.

"My inner eye foretold that you would choose such a wise path, and continue to lead us…"

"Oh, do shut up, Sybil," Severus interrupted her irritably. "We've all heard that drabble before."

"Not to mention the fact that Remus has _said _words to this effect before, so even a potato's inner eye could foresee this meeting," Dung added dryly.

Remus choked back a laugh, and saw that Professors Tonks, Vector, and Sinistra were trying to do the same with less effect. Dung looked like he had eaten a particularly sour piece of fruit, and Sprout was grinning openly. Trelawney, however, hardly seemed to notice. She sniffed loftily in Snape's direction.

"Those without the gift of prophecy will always scoff at those who see," she said airily.

"And then there are those who simply pretend…" Dung muttered.

Sinistra giggled, and Ted's face went bright red. Was he even breathing? Remus checked again. _Probably not._

Ted was, however, a welcome addition to the staff. When Remus had finally convinced Dung Fletcher to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, he was faced with the task of finding a new Transfiguration professor. That search had proved harder than he expected it too—although qualified professors existed in abundance, few were now eager to teach at Hogwarts. At Beauxbatons, yes. Even at Durmstang—but not at Hogwarts. The school was far too well known for resisting the Dark Lord, and too many were afraid to face him.

Then Ted had volunteered, and Remus had been overjoyed. Not only was Ted a brilliant and well-known author in the field of Transfiguration, he was a wonderful example for the Muggleborn students who came to Hogwarts. Ted was proof that they could succeed, and would if they worked hard enough. That, and he was a welcome addition to the staff room, which had been somewhat lacking in humor during recent years. He and Dung seemed to have hit it off right away, though, and Remus had already heard them babbling on about this spell and that spell and about how the newest issue of _Transfiguration Today _simply hadn't gotten it right. He smiled. It had been time for new blood.

Severus, seeming to be in uncommonly good cheer, quipped, "those who can't do, teach, you realize."

"What does that say about you?" Sinistra snorted. Hagrid guffawed.

"About all of us, more like," Vector pointed out, making the others (save Trelawney, who still seemed to be _above _the conversation) laugh again. Smiling, Remus spoke up before Severus could say whatever was on his mind—though his wit was as sharp as a dagger, it was often something less than tactful and could often sting, even when he did not mean it to.

"Though I hate to break up the entertaining conversation," he chuckled, "I believe we are late for lunch."

"Goodness! Yer right, Professor Lupin!" Hagrid lurched to his feet, and Remus could have sworn he heard the half-giant's stomach growling from the other side of the staff room. "Why, I could eat a half of a—"

"Spare us the gory details, please," Severus interjected. "I would _like _to digest my coming meal in peace."

"Oh, no!" Sinistra said quickly, snickering. "Don't disturb poor Severus' _fragile _appetite. Why, none of us would know what to do if that happened!"

Snape glared. Everyone else laughed.

* * *

"Oi!" Fred jolted to a stop, causing both Ginny and George to crash right into him. Trunks and cages flew everywhere—Percy's new owl, Hermes, screeched angrily at Hedwig when their cages collided, and Ginny's out of control trunk careened sideways, crashing into Hermione and knocking her right off her feet.

_Now that, _Ginny thought victoriously, _went pretty well, despite not being able to use magic. _She fought the grin down as she staggered to her feet. _Perfect!_

Both her parents were caught in the midst of five Weasley trunks and children, plus Harry and Hermione (plus all of _their_luggage), who had joined their group a few minutes before. Both Arthur and Molly Weasley looked concerned, especially for Hermione, whose knee had been scraped—and neither seemed even the _slightest _bit suspicious, which was wonderfully new. Unfortunately, Ginny's parents were nearly always suspicious, mostly because they had the infamous Fred and George Weasley as children, and any parents who had fourteen years of experience with _those _two had either learned suspicion or died from a fatal overdose of nasty surprises.

However, Arthur and Molly Weasley didn't have any experience with the Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble.

Spinning around, Ginny threw a glare at Fred and demanded, "What'd you do that for?"

"Sorry, Gin." Fred glanced around at the chaos his sudden stop had created, seeming to see it for the first time. "I realized that I forgot my Dark Arts text in the car."

"Is that _all_?" Percy snapped.

"Oh, will you get over it already?" Ron retorted, picking himself up from underneath Hermione's trunk—as nearly as Ginny could guess, Hermione had bounced off of Harry, whose trunk had hit Ron's, which had crashed into Hermione's, which had promptly knocked Ron off of his feet and landed him under the same trunk. "It's not like anyone's hurt or anything—"

"Well, I _am_," Hermione snapped so angrily that Ginny wondered if she was really faking or not. There was little way to tell; Ron and Hermione were always fighting about _something._ But there seemed to be a troublemaking gleam in Hermione's eyes, and Ginny took that to be a good sign.

"Oh, don't you worry, dear," Ginny's mum said immediately. "I'll have you mended in a moment." She pointed her wand at the scrape, and a small white spark healed it almost immediately. "There. See?"

Hermione smiled angelically. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's no trouble, Hermione. None at all."

"I'll tell you what is trouble," Ron announced to the world. "The fact that Percy's stupid bloody owl—"

"Ronald!" their mum shouted.

"I'll have you know that Hermes is one of the smartest of his—" Percy started.

"Oh, really?" Ron demanded.

"Will you two shut up?" Ginny whined, just to spice things up a little.

Hermione rounded on Ron. "Has it ever occurred to you to stop shouting long enough to apologize?"

"Hey, it's not his fault that his body got in the way of your trunk," Harry interjected.

"Now, children…" Ginny's dad tried to speak, but he was rather quiet, and his eleven year old little girl managed to drown him out quite easily.

"I can't believe that you let Hermes get so close to Hedwig!" she shouted accusingly, glaring at Percy. "Now look what's happening!"

"What?" her older brother asked in surprise, swinging his head around in a vain search for his owl, who was now nowhere near Hedwig at all, seeing as how Hedwig was sitting upright and quite happily next to Harry.

"That!" she pointed aimlessly at thin air. "It's so—"

"Ginny, Percy…" their dad tried again, with no less success.

"Not his fault?" Hermione snarled. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I'm not on a side!" Harry objected earnestly. Ginny had no idea he was such a good actor. "It's just that you didn't see—"

"I didn't see?" Hermione screeched. "I suppose because I'm a girl, I'm incapable of knowing _anything_, then?"

"Ginny, what are you talking about?" Percy demanded.

Ginny resisted the urge to snicker and pointed in a new direction, replying, "That!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Molly Weasley's shout was loud enough to make heads turn all over Platform 9 ¾ , but fortunately they were in the Wizarding world, and the Wizarding world was used to the Weasley clan. _It's about time_, Ginny thought with relief.

She tried to look bashful, but didn't do to well. To her right, Ron wasn't doing much better, but Hermione's face was still red and her hair was all a mess, which made her seem angry rather than guilty, which worked out just fine. Harry only managed to look confused, but at least he wasn't a Weasley. He could get away with it.

Percy simply looked furious, but then again, he wasn't in on the joke.

"Now, I don't quite understand how a little mess has managed to make everyone so angry," their dad started, "but unless you clean this disaster up right away, _none _of you are getting on the—"

"Hey!" Percy cut him off. "Where'd Fred and George go?"

* * *

"They still don't understand," Severus said quietly. "Not really, anyway."

"Dung does," Remus pointed out.

"Dung is different," his deputy countered, and the headmaster had to concede the point.

"I know. But we can't really help matters, you realize."

"True."

Snape scowled. "Is that all you have to say?" he demanded. "You _know _that the Dark Lord is coming. You _know _what that will cost the school, even if you succeed. And yet you say _nothing_?"

"No. Not nothing." Remus blinked. So rarely did Severus let his feelings out that even friends sometimes forgot that he had them, and this was a surprise. It took Remus a moment to swallow the raw emotion in Severus' voice, and then he had to remind himself that his companion loved Hogwarts as much as Remus did…if not more. He would never completely understand what the school meant to Snape, but he did know that Hogwarts touched everyone in different ways, and that was what mattered. He took a deep breath.

"Severus, I know what is coming. I even know that I might not be able to stop it. But between this moment and then, we have another duty, and it is not just to face the darkness. We have students to teach, and while those people back there might not be suited to fight or even to understand a war, they are suited to teaching. And we need them, just as they are."

"And when the end comes?"

Remus swallowed. "We hope they will do the right thing. And we pray that it will not be such an end that we cannot recover from it."

There was a long moment of silence before Snape shook his head.

"Maybe I've seen too much," the Death Eater said quietly, all traces of anger suddenly gone from his voice. "Maybe I have forgotten how to hope. But of all places in our world, this is the last I would want to see fall. Too much matters here…"

"I know." For a moment, Remus was tempted to put his hand on his friend's shoulder, but he did not. Such things were not done. "We will do what we can, and fight until the last, if it comes to that."

Snape snorted, and Remus saw his old bitterness flare back to life. "Will they?"

Remus glanced back at the door that his professors had used the staff room only minutes before. "Yes," he said quietly. "I believe they will."

* * *

"I can't believe it went so well," Fred grinned as the pair slipped through the parking lot at King's Cross.

"That was almost perfect," George agreed, skipping around an ugly pink car. "Now, if Lee's Mum is still at that luncheon when we get there…"

"We'll pull this off without a hitch."

"And we'll be at Hogwarts before anyone's the wiser." George shrugged. "'Cept for the missing car part, but we're leaving a note. At least Mum can't complain that she didn't know—"

Fred cut him off. "Even if we are telling her that we couldn't wait to see the look on everyone's face when we pulled up in front of Gambol and Japes—"

"As if we would really do something like that to Dad," George finished with a scowl. "But Mum'll believe it. She's at the point where she'll believe we'll do _anything_."

"Including steal the car and fly it off to 'rescue' your friend?" another voice suddenly piped up, making the twins stagger to a halt, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

"Bill?!"

Their oldest brother smiled grimly. "Unless there's another red-haired Auror standing in the parking lot."

Fred found his voice first. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Stopping you," Bill responded levelly. "Dad isn't as stupid as you two seem to think, you know."

"We didn't think—"

"No, you didn't." They'd never seen Bill act so _responsible_, but his eyes weren't even laughing, like they usually were when the twins pulled prank. "And that's the problem."

"But—" George tried.

Bill sighed. "I imagine that you had the others stage some huge fight so you could escape?"

"How'd you know?"

"I'm your _brother_, Fred," Bill pointed out. "I've watched your pranking skills evolve over the years."

"But this isn't a prank," George objected. "We're not really going to land the car at Gambol and Japes!"

"I know," their brother replied quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his midnight blue robes. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "I know you want to bring Lee to Hogwarts, and it's even a good and noble idea. But you can't do it."

"Why not?" Fred demanded.

"Because it's not your choice, and by doing so you'd endanger not only Lee, but also yourselves. And our family."

Both twins started to object, but Bill got in first, his voice still quiet and reasonable.

"The two of you have got to learn to think bigger than yourselves and your friends," the Auror said in an undertone. "First of all, the last thing Dad needs is for everyone to know he's got a flying Muggle car—Fudge would use that get him sacked as Deputy Minister in a heartbeat. Second, what if someone _else _sees you? Like a Death Eater?"

"There's an invisibility generator, you know," George pointed out.

"There are ways to see though invisibility, George," Bill replied softly. "Many of them. And I know for a fact that there are Death Eaters watching our family."

"_What_?" both gasped.

Bill nodded silently.

"But that…" Fred trailed off as all the implications sank in. Yes, they would have probably made it to Lee's house, but would they have ever made it out…? He swallowed, and saw the same sick expression cross George's face. Rescuing a friend was one thing—endangering him was another. A long moment passed before Bill spoke again.

"Dad figured that if Mum caught you, she'd only yell and attract attention. The two of you would tune her out, anyway. And he wouldn't tell you the things that I will."

Fred swallowed again. _Like the fact that we'd ruin Dad's Ministry career. Or that we're being watched._ He exchanged a quick glance with George, and his twin nodded. There were moments when having a brother that was an Auror wasn't so interesting after all.

"All right," George said slowly. "We won't go."

"We promise," Fred added. _How do we explain this to Lee?_

"Thank you," Bill said with a slight smile. Their brother looked relieved as he pulled his right hand out of his pocket and extended an object towards them. "Here. Tell Mum that you left this in the car."

_This _was a copy of the fourth edition of _The Beaters' Bible_ by Brutus Scrimgeour, a brand new and impossible to find book that they'd both wanted desperately. How Bill had managed to get a hold of one when every bookstore that the twins knew of was sold out, Fred didn't know, but he didn't really care, either. He managed to smile.

"Thanks, Bill."

"Yeah." The Auror snorted. "Now get inside before Mum realizes I was conspiring with you—it'll ruin my reputation as a rule-following Weasley."

The twins laughed, but even that didn't take away the nasty feeling in Fred's stomach. What were they going to do about Lee?

* * *

He hadn't touched it since that fateful day in July. He hadn't wanted to, really, and had even managed to convince himself that it was not important. Almost.

Now, however, the journal was heavy in his hands, heavy and cold. Touching it almost made Sirius nauseous, but he suspected that if he had not been branded with the Mark, he would have never survived doing so. As matters stood, the growling darkness inherent in the leather bound book was enough to give him goosebumps, and Sirius felt as if he could never be warm again. Despite that, he _could_ open it, and he would not turn back now. He could not, not upon this road he had taken.

Once, he'd wondered why Dumbledore had not utilized the journal, had not read it himself and learned all he could. Regulus had died to give it to the late Minister, and yet, Dumbledore had done nothing… But now Sirius understood. The old man could never have opened the journal without destroying it—or himself. Sirius, however, could—Voldemort had left him with more than bad memories and the Dark Mark. His _gift_ had provided Sirius with the ability to open the journal, to do what no other would dare do. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. _Finally, something comes of this which he does _not _expect._

The smile disappeared when he swallowed. It was time.

* * *

Tonks squinted into the darkness. She and Horace were wandering again, of course—both had managed to finish the readings for the third section of Defense Against Dementors, and as usual, they grew bored quickly. So it was off to explore once more, because there was always something new to discover on Avalon…even if trainees weren't supposed to _wander _after hours. In that way, she mused, Avalon was a bit like Hogwarts. Paranoid teachers creating disobedient students.

Then again, Avalon was just a _tad _more dangerous than Hogwarts could ever be. Hogwarts, after all, didn't have giant stone doors that wanted to kill their enemies, or mazes designed to reach out and grab trainees. Hogwarts also didn't have devious individuals like Frank Longbottom in charge—nor expert sneaks like Bill Weasley. Fortunately, though, the pair of troublemakers had long since realized that the best time to explore was when Weasley wasn't on the island, and Horace had been lucky enough to overhear Weasley telling Jones that he was going home for the night. That, in turn, had sealed their fate.

Tonks and Horace had set out right before sunset, sneaking out of the Student Quarters and past Avalon's shallow lake—again, compared to Hogwarts, the two had very little in common. The lake was almost deep enough to swim in—if you were four feet tall. Anyone else would either hit their feet on the bottom or have their head come out of the water with every stroke, and Tonks didn't know why the Aurors bothered keeping the lake. Maybe that was simply because the lake had _always _been there, and that seemed to be the excuse for almost everything on Avalon. The darn place was ancient, so old that no one even remembered who built the buildings, only that they were _there_.

Most of the Aurors labeled Avalon's old architecture as Roman in design; after some careful study and reading a few books (she had been a Ravenclaw, after all), Tonks had realized that _some _of it was Roman. The rest, well…there simply _weren't _buildings like that in any book Tonks had ever seen, including Muggle ones. It was almost as if Avalon had simply sprung up out of history and then disappeared again, leaving no traces behind except for the isle upon which she now stood. Still thinking along the same lines, she turned to Horace.

"You ever wonder why this island seems to have no history?"

"Huh?" Horace turned to her, blinking distractedly, then he blushed a little. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I was just asking if you'd ever wondered why Avalon seems to have no history at all. I mean, we know that the Aurors have been here for centuries, but no one seems to know how _many _centuries, or even why we came here in the first place. And no one understands _why_ anything happens, either. Like the weather."

"Or like those doors." Horace gestured into the growing darkness, pointing at the shady outline of the Primary Apparition Center. Tonks turned her head, nodding.

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder where—" A shadow flickered in the outlying trees—"What's that?"

"I don't know," Horace answered. "That's what I've been watching, though. I think there's someone out there."

"A candidate?"

He shrugged. "Not sure."

"Well." Tonks grinned at him, but she was almost certain Horace didn't notice. Or, if he did, he was ignoring her—but Horace had become good at that over the past months. _Hell, that's what friends are for!_ "Let's go find out."

"You're crazy, Tonks," Horace groaned.

"This is new how?"

She bolted forward without waiting for him, knowing that Horace would creep right along behind her. He always did, and as conservative as Horace Smeltings appeared on the outside, he was definitely the _sneakier _sort of Slytherin…though he hadn't been very pleased when she'd tried to call him a shady snake.

"This is stupid," he hissed in her ear when Tonks paused to take a second look at the shadow. The figure was beginning to look more and more male, which made her wonder if it might be one of the instructors—but he was too short to be either Weasley or Shacklebolt, and not stocky enough to be Longbottom. He _definitely _wasn't Hestia Jones, and though Tonks knew her cousin was on the island, he didn't look like Sirius, either, especially given the fact that his hair seemed rather too cropped off.

"So?" she answered.

Horace groaned again. "Who do you think it is?" he asked, sliding his head around from behind his tree for a better look.

"I was just wondering that." They were both silent for a long moment, then he shrugged.

"One of the Aurors, I suppose."

"It's not one of the instructors."

"No, it isn't."

And they didn't know of any active Aurors, save for Sirius Black, who were currently on the island. Tonks scowled. "What _is _he doing?"

"Spellwork," Horace replied thoughtfully.

"Well, obviously."

"No. Work. On the wards."

She turned to stare at him, but Horace seemed very certain. "Huh?"

"I cast a diagnostic spell," he explained. "I made it bounce off the wards so he wouldn't notice it, and the wards are…fluctuating."

"Fluctuating? Like how?" Tonks' heart leapt into her throat. One of the first things Aurors were told upon arriving on Avalon (aside from the part about how difficult training would be) was that trainees were not, under any circumstances, to touch the wards. Not physically, not with magic, not at _all_. Even full Aurors weren't invited to tinker with Avalon's defenses, which was what had kept the island secure for so long.

"As if they're being…I don't know. Adjusted." Horace shook his head. "Whatever it is, it isn't right."

"You mean…?" She didn't even want to say it. Speaking the words might make them real.

"Yeah."

"Then…?"

Fortunately, Horace knew her well. He didn't even have to look at her to know what she was asking. He nodded quickly. "I think so. Do we go the subtle route, or the obvious one?"

"Well, we can _try _not to get kicked out...tonight."

"Subtle it is."

Without another word, the pair of candidates headed in separate directions, neither taking their eyes off of the mystery figure. He _was _toying with the wards—Tonks could see vague sparks flying around him in the darkness. Of course, there could have been an innocent explanation for his actions, but if so, why do it in the middle of the night? And why way out here? She was certain that there were a lot more convenient places to work on the wards than right next to the Primary Apparition Center, which was way the hell out and gone from everything else on the island, except for the Old Gates and the lake.

And PriApp itself.

_Oh, damn. _She barely stopped herself from saying the words out loud in time. But it did explain a lot, and she didn't have time to tell Horace. There might not be time for anything at all.

The wards in the shadow's immediate vicinity were glowing orange now, ever so slightly.

Thinking quickly, Tonks grabbed her wand out of her pocket and thrust it in his general direction, aiming for an empty spot of ground roughly halfway between herself and whoever-he-was. _If I'm wrong, there's going to be hell to pay_, she thought desperately, but there was no time to be sure. Even if Horace realized what was happening, there was no way to predict what he'd do, or if he'd do it in time…

A quick swipe of her wand sent a bright purple spark sailing into the spot Tonks had chosen. Purple fireworks exploded the moment the spark hit the ground, and Tonks barely managed to shield her eyes in time. Far to her right, she heard Horace yelp, but the stranger's shout drowned her friend out easily.

Blinded by the sudden light, the mystery man's head snapped from side to side, helplessly searching for Tonks, but she ducked behind a tree, trying not to giggle at his startled reaction. But his next movement was less anticipated—without warning, he bolted towards the giant rock doors of PriApp. And they opened for him.

_What?_

Tonks could only stare as the ancient doors slid shut behind the stranger.

* * *

* * *

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Well, I'm around for a bit, and writing like mad, so look for me to update sometime around Friday or Saturday. Motivate me to make it sooner!


	29. Chapter 29: Come What May

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Come What May

They stepped off the train and into a clear but darker than usual night, with the nervous first years hanging towards the back and the confident older students leading the way. Harry and Ron exchanged a half smile—it was nice not to be the new students, nice to know what was going on and where they had to go. What was even nicer was not having to cross the lake in those small boats; the horseless carriages were waiting for them, and the Misfits headed in that direction, ignoring Percy's yelled command to _"Slow down, for Merlin's sake!"_ However, the group did pause to wave a quick farewell to Ginny as she joined the other first years on their way to the boats.

Wordlessly, the five of them squeezed into one carriage, ignoring some other prefect's order to split up. They didn't feel like great company tonight, and the person the Misfits had most wanted with them was still stuck at home, over 125 miles south of Hogwarts. Worse, Fred and George hadn't even been given a chance to tell Lee that they weren't coming—they'd hardly caught the train before it left. Even the other Misfits hadn't known about the failure until the twins had walked into their compartment, downcast and defeated. But they hadn't given up yet.

However, as the horseless carriages rattled up the drive, Harry had a hard time figuring out what they might do. What other choices were left? It wasn't _right _that Lee was excluded from the magical world solely because of his mother's fear, and it wasn't fair to Lee that no one other than his friends sought to help him. Someone like Professor Lupin should have been the one to bring him back, but all the adults would say was that it was Mrs. Jordan's decision to make. Even adults who should have known better.

Harry bit his lip. They had to do something. All that was left to do was figure out what.

-------------

Flashbulbs exploded in his face, and James blinked at the bright light. The photographers were going crazy, as if the seventh picture they shot in quick succession would look any different from the six before it. The cynical thought allowed him to smile wryly, and years of practice turned the expression into something more friendly. His years as the leading Auror and then time as head of the DMLE had taught James how to project a public image, and he needed those skills now. Somehow, he had ended up as Minister of Magic in one of the world's most trying times, and James knew that people did not need to see him worried. They didn't need to see him frown. They needed him confident, secure, and serene. And he would show them what they needed to see.

James suppressed the sigh that wanted to rise. They also didn't need to see a wheelchair-bound Minister of Magic, but he couldn't help that. For some things, there was no turning back.

Reporters were shouting questions, but he waved a hand for silence. Curiously, the reporters were the first to comply, though it took a long moment for the crowd to follow suit. He hadn't expected such a turnout for a simple speech; in fact, James had anticipated the exact opposite. Fear of Voldemort _should _have driven so many to stay away. Was it a good sign that they had not?

He took a deep breath and started to speak.

-------------

"And that's _final!_" Miranda Jordan thundered at the top of her lungs, and for such a little woman, Lee's mum had a big voice. She would never manage to rival Mrs. Weasley for sheer volume, of course (and was, quite thankfully, not nearly so high-pitched), but she would definitely place second in any screaming contest.

At the moment, Lee felt that second was quite bad enough.

"But, Mum—"

"Absolutely not!" she cut him off angrily. "If your friends trying to _rescue _you wasn't bad enough, you now decide to try to sneak out, to run away—"

"Mum, I just want to go back to school!" Lee objected, trying desperately not to sound like a five year old. Oh, why had Mrs. Weasley had to _helpfully _call to tell his mum what Fred and George had planned? Whose side was she on, anyway?

"You'll be going to school starting Monday," his mum retorted righteously. "A normal school, where you can't be hurt by the likes of the people who killed your father."

Lee groaned. He missed Dad, too, but he didn't try to throw Dad's death in his mother's face every time something didn't go his way. "Hiding isn't going to help," he grumbled for the millionth time. "It's not like he'd want _me,_ anyway. I'm just a kid."

"You're right. You are a kid—_my _kid, and that means no sneaking out." His Mum gestured angrily with the silver wristwatch she held in her hand. "Especially not using this Pop Key."

"Port Key."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is, I'm destroying it."

"Mum, no!" Lee pleaded. "It was a gift!" _And it's my only way back_.

"You should have thought of that before you tried to sneak out using it," she replied archly, and Lee felt his scowl grow deeper. _I should have thought of that before I got caught_, he thought angrily, but didn't say so. _That _certainly wouldn't help him at all, but he still had to try one more time. Mum used to appreciate what Hogwarts meant to him.__

"You don't understand. I can't be _normal_. Magic is what I am, and all my friends are at Hogwarts."

"No, I don't." Her voice grew softer. "But my job, Lee, is to keep you safe, even if that doesn't always make you happy, too." She tried to smile, and failed. "I'm sorry. Hopefully you can go back to Hogwarts next year, but now is not the time."

Lee sighed. He knew what was coming—it was inevitable, and Mum continued in that same reasonable voice.

"Now, I want you to promise me that you won't try to run away again," she said quietly. "All right?"

"All right." Lee groaned out loud, and didn't care if Mum heard it. "I promise."

-------------

The Sorting Hat ended its song with a big smile, yet to Harry, that smile somehow seemed…false. While the Hat had finished on a happy and optimistic note, Harry couldn't help but remember the darker words at the heart of the song, speaking of unity in the face of darkness and four houses, separated by belief. The thought made him swallow; he had known for some time that the war had come to Hogwarts, yet this made it _real_. Despite his conversation with his mother, Harry had wanted to believe that Hogwarts was safe. He had always wanted to imagine the school as the Wizarding world's last refuge against evil…and it was. But even Hogwarts could not stand forever.

Standing beside the Sorting Hat, Professor Snape lifted a scroll without so much of a glance at the first years. Harry snorted. "Well, he hasn't changed at all," he remarked in an undertone to Ron.

"You're wrong," his friend replied. "I think his hair got greasier."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed from the redhead's other side. "Hush! They're starting!"

The boys snickered, and Harry caught Fred's eye across the table. The twins were both laughing—already plotting, no doubt, which always made them happy. Harry's grin widened. It was good that the Weasleys were on his side, else his Hogwarts experience might have turned out very miserably indeed.

Professor Snape read out the first name, and a short girl stepped forward in response to, "Bradley, Amanda."

The answer came almost immediately, and the hat smiled while it shouted:"Ravenclaw!"

And so another year at Hogwarts began, starting just like the last and a thousand classes before that one. Since the beginning, students had been sorted into their appropriate houses, and Harry sincerely hoped that it would always be that way. No matter what happened, Hogwarts was timeless, and there was a great deal of comfort to be found in tradition. Even if things weren't as safe as they had once been, Hogwarts was still Hogwarts, and that would always remain.

Except for this year, when everything changed.

"Hopper, Geoffrey."

Professor Snape's voice rang emptily in the stillness, but only silence greeted it. The first years looked at one another nervously, but no one stepped forward. Immediately, the Deputy Headmaster's dark eyes swept over the group; although a few children backed away from his glare, none moved. Snape's voice took on an edge.

"Hopper, Geoffrey," he repeated.

No one moved, and a murmur ran through the hall. Across the table, Harry met Fred's wide eyes without completely comprehending what was happening, but he knew that something had gone _wrong._

"Hopper, Geoffrey."

Nothing happened. For the first time, Harry saw Snape's composure crack, and the greasy-haired professor glanced over his shoulder at the headmaster for instructions. Harry followed his gaze, and noticed that Remus' blue eyes were dark…but his expression did not change. He seemed unsurprised, and simply nodded.

Snape turned back, took a deep breath, and moved on. "Isaacs, Anthony."

For awhile, everything seemed to go fine. Perhaps Geoffrey Hopper had been a fluke, someone who had missed the train, moved, or had changed their mind at the last minute. Five new students were sorted, then six, and then a seventh. The eighth, however, was not there. Nor was the ninth.

The students were whispering loudly, now, and the first years looked positively terrified. Everyone was looking around, trying to find the missing three students, but Snape plowed on, and Harry had to admire the man's persistence, if nothing else. Student number ten (Johnson, Kelly) was sorted into Gryffindor, followed by two Slytherins, a Hufflepuff, and three Ravenclaws. And then, yet again, nothing. Three prospective students did not show—one of which, Robert Lichtenstein, was the only child of one of the Fourteen Families. Harry had never met him, but knew the name, and knew that she should have been there.

_Where _are_ they?_ so many voices whispered. _What happened?_

But Harry knew.

-------------

Long experience as a friend of Fred and George Weasley had taught Lee how to _use _darkness, and the night of September 1, 1992, was no different. Night had fallen by the time his mother settled in front of the television, and Lee made a point of ignoring her, more out of principle than anything else. He loved his mother. He even respected her grief, and understood that she feared he would share his father's fate But Lee didn't respect the fact that she wanted him to change what he was just to accommodate her fears. And promise or no, he wasn't going to.

Sighing quietly, Lee slid his window open. Fortunately, theirs was a relatively old house, and the locks on his windows had long since fallen to pieces. No one had ever bothered fixing them. Who was going to rob an Auror's house, anyway?

The thought of his father made Lee swallow. There were so many mornings that he expected to see his dad sitting at the kitchen table, with the _Daily Prophet _in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other. The memories weren't nearly as painful now as they had been, but Lee could still feel the familiar anger boiling within him. Someday, somehow, he would play a meaningful role in the war. He would finish what his father had started. It wasn't a dream he ever mentioned to his mum, because she'd be likely to lock him into a loony bin and never let him out again if he did, but Lee still dreamed. Someday, he would do what had to be done.

The window slid open without a sound of protest, which he took as a good sign. Slowly, Lee slid one leg out the window, then angled his Cleansweep Nine through after it. The small knapsack followed, and again he thanked his lucky stars that Fred and George had snuck his trunk to Hogwarts. He didn't know what had gone wrong with their plan, or where they were, but he couldn't afford to wait any longer. Either way, he'd get to school, and if he met them halfway, so much the better.

Taking a deep breath, Lee eased himself the rest of the way out, listening carefully for any noise from downstairs. But his Mum kept watching those horrid Muggle dramas that she enjoyed, and the volume level didn't change. Carefully, he swung his right leg over the broom, kicked, and then was airborne.

For a moment, Lee bit his lip. "Sorry, Mum," he said to the night, meaning it with all his heart. He didn't want to hurt her, but he _had _to go back. He only wished she could understand that.

"Helga Hufflepuff once said that the greatest heroes surface in the darkest times. They come without warning, but they come all the same. They come because they are needed, rise to the occasion because someone must, and do the impossible even when hope is lost."

James' eyes swept over the crowd, seeing several people blink at this unexpected beginning. But others cocked their heads to listen more closely, and he continued.

"Heroes, however, come in all shapes and sizes. And not all heroes are the obvious ones who battle darkness on the front lines, who risk death day in and day out. Some heroes exist beneath the surface, but they are there all the same. Heroes are those who help others without thinking of themselves, who work today to ensure that the world their children will inherit is better than the one we see today. Heroes are the ones who do what must be done, yet do not expect recognition or reward.

"People say that our world needs heroes. I reply that our heroes are everywhere. Look around. Everyone who fights back, even in the smallest way, is a hero. We can't all be Aurors and defend an entire society against Death Eaters, but that does not matter. We can all be heroes. We can all fight back."

-------------

Even Snape's face looked strained when five, and then six, students failed to show. And harsh looks from professors were not enough to silence the rest of the student body, who looked around as if waiting for the absent students to appear at any moment. But no one did, and Deputy Headmaster doggedly worked his way towards the end of the list, reading name after name, and never knowing when one might not step forward.

By now, Remus looked pained. He hadn't looked surprised before—_had he expected this? _Harry wondered sadly—but now he seemed very sad. Disappointed? Perhaps. He watched Snape continue without flinching, but Harry knew he had to be burning inside.

The list was nearing the end. There were only three students remaining after Jason Reagan was sorted into Hufflepuff. Then Zacharias Smith went to Ravenclaw, and then:

"Thomas, Juliet,."

Again, nothing. Snape let out a breath, repeated the name once, and moved on. Ginny, who was promptly sorted into Gryffindor, but no one noticed that nearly so much as they noticed the seven students who were not sorted at all. Even the Misfits cheering was subdued; they were happy for Ginny, yet the depression was infectious. There had already seemed to be fewer first years than usual…but what about the seven who did not come? What happened to Hogwarts when students were afraid to come?

James kept his voice quiet—there was no need to bluster or shout; the crowd could hear him perfectly well with all the charms ringing the square. He'd chosen to speak in Diagon Alley primarily because the street had become a symbol, but also because there was space. Now, he almost wished that he'd chosen somewhere larger, because the crowd packed the square tightly, but where else could there have been? Diagon Alley was all they had left, aside from Hogwarts, and Hogwarts had students today.

Fleetingly, he glanced up at the moon, and thought of Remus. Come what may, Remus would take care of them. He always did.

"I cannot make concrete promises. I cannot say that enough heart and enough resistance will make us win this war—but I _can _say that there are battles worth fighting. There are even causes worth dying for.

"We have seen too much death recently, I know. Twenty-seven innocent men, women, and children died here in Diagon Alley, simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We have mourned them. We will continue to do so. But the best way to remember them is to honor their sacrifices. Yes, they died unwillingly. But let us not memorialize them by losing hope…"

-------------

Remus stood, and watched hundreds of eyes fasten desperately on him. He was rarely nervous in front of crowds, not these days, but he had to swallow before he could will himself to speak. His words, however, came out calm and even.

"My prepared speech, it seems, is no longer so relevant as it was," he started softly. "Especially after what we have just witnessed Instead, I will speak of our need to stand together, just as the Sorting Hat did.

"Four different houses inhabit this hall. Four different creeds, different beliefs, and different traditions. But we do all have one thing in common: we all come from Hogwarts." Students were nodding, even some of the Slytherins. Young Malfoy looked extremely bored, but Remus was not speaking for his benefit. He was speaking to those who had yet to choose, and to those who still knew fear.

"No matter what happens, we are _all _heirs to Hogwarts' traditions. We are all part of something greater than any single house, greater than Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. Together, we are far stronger than apart, something Hogwarts has proven again and again. And that is something we may have to yet again prove, in these dark days.

"I cannot promise that the war will not come to Hogwarts. It already has, in many ways—we have seen that, tonight, because there are seven young witches and wizards who are _not _among our number. Instead, they are at home, trying to escape the war in any way possible." He fought against the urge to swallow painfully. "I applaud your choice to continue. And I thank you for staying here, for staying _together_, when it would have been far easier not to.

"Come what may, I love this school. I know that everyone in this room feels the same. And I can promise you that no matter what happens, Hogwarts will remain."

-------------

The wind stung Lee's eyes, but for once, he was glad for the pain. It had been a long time since he'd felt so free, so _himself._ His mother's fear of all things magical had kept Lee from doing the things he loved most, and he hadn't been able to even touch his broom since his mum tried to destroy it. _She doesn't understand_, he thought to himself, trying not to feel guilty for breaking his promise. _I can't just turn my magic _off_, but Mum doesn't see that._

Still, she would be horribly worried once she realized that he disappeared, and it finally occurred to Lee that he really should have left her a note. It wasn't as if Mum could stop him when he was flying high above Muggle means of transportation. But he hadn't thought of that, and now she'd worry. _I'll owl her the moment I get to Hogwarts, _he promised himself. _I'm sure that no matter how mad Professor Fletcher is at me, he'll let me tell Mum that I'm okay._

That thought made him feel a little bit better, though Lee couldn't quite shake the guilty feeling. When he'd left, he'd been too angry to feel bad about what he was doing, but the cold wind helped him remember. No matter what, his mum was the only family that he had, and he didn't want to abandon her. Even if she didn't understand what he had to do, or why he had to do it. Lee smiled grimly, feeling the unseasonably cold wind bite a little harder at his face. _I'll make it up to you, Mum. I promise. _It was almost the last thought he ever had.

He was too distracted to notice the small red spark flying through the air until it hit, making the front end of his broom jerk up and almost out of his hands. Lee swore, making a desperate attempt to catch his balance, and barely had time to register the white light that suddenly exploded turned the night sky into day.

And everything went black.

-------------

Ron turned to Harry as the trio followed the rest of their classmates towards the Gryffindor Tower. "Can you believe that Professor Fletcher is finally teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?" he asked, grinning. "He's an ex-Auror. I can only imagine the neat curses he'll show—"

"Oh, honestly, Ron. We're doing dark creatures this year, no matter who teaches it," Hermione interrupted him, making the redhead scowl and Harry snicker. Ron glared at him.

"Not you, too."

Harry shrugged. "She's right, you know."

"Of course she is," Ron snapped. "She's Ms. Know-It-All."

"Well, if you ever spoke to any of your older siblings instead of guessing, you would have known that, too," Hermione retorted.

Ron snorted. "With my older brothers? Can you _imagine _what Fred and George would make up?"

Hermione giggled, and a voice floated up from behind the trio in the crowd. "We heard that!" George declared. "And—"

"We resemble that remark," his twin finished.

"You resemble a lot of remarks, but this is hardly the place for all of them," another voice muttered.

"Now, now, Ginny. You aren't supposed to poke fun at your siblings on the first day," Fred admonished her as the three slid through the crowd of Gryffindors to join the rest of the Misfits.

"Aren't I?" the youngest Weasley retorted. "This is what you get for trying to turn my hair green during Headmaster Lupin's speech!"

George grimaced. "We would have succeeded, too, if Hermione hadn't turned spoilsport on us."

Hermione glared right back. "I thought Misfits didn't play tricks on Misfits," she retorted.

"No," Fred replied. "Misfits just—"

"Better expect revenge when the time comes," Ginny finished for him, smiling sweetly.

The twins exchanged distressed glances, and George threw his arms up in disgust. "Well, that does it!"

"It's final," Fred agreed.

"Horrible," George nodded.

Ginny looked between the two, confused. "What?"

"I can't believe it," George continued, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Such a shame…"

"Why, I can't understand—"

"Oh, will you two stuff it and tell us what _it _is?" Ron demanded, and the twins swung to look at him gravely.

"Well, it's irrevocable, now," Fred said grimly.

"Unavoidable."

Fred nodded sadly. "Ginny is one of us. A Misfit. Pure and simple."

George snickered. "She's entirely too evil to be anything else."

"It took you that long to decide?" Ron rolled his eyes, but Ginny just snorted.

"Well, I'm glad I have _your _approval," she told her older brothers. "Because I was becoming a Misfit if you liked it or not."

-------------

Lee tried to figure out if his eyes were open as he struggled to blink away the stars that danced before him. Belatedly, he figured out that those _were _actual stars, and that he was lying on cold grass, staring up at the night sky. It took a long moment for him to regain focus; his head was spinning like a crazy Muggle top, and he had a hard time remembering what had happened. After several minutes of blinking and squinting, Lee realized that he must have fallen off of his broom, and he started to roll sideways, figuring that it had to have landed somewhere to his right.

Instead of a broom, he found a pair of booted feet. Lee blinked in dizzy surprise, trying to figure out what _they _were doing there—as nearly as he could tell, he was in the same forest he'd been flying over when he'd…fallen? He shook his head, trying to clear it enough to make the feet go away, but as his eyes drifted upwards, he realized that the feet were attached to ankles. The ankles were attached to legs, and to a body…part of which was a hand that held his broom. _This can't be good_.

Finally, Lee remembered that he hadn't fallen off of his broom. He'd been knocked off by whatever caused that explosion in the air, which meant that _someone _had blown him straight out of the sky, and he would lay good bets that _hadn't _been his Muggle mother or any of her friends. And it certainly hadn't been Fred or George, either, because neither of them wore expensive black boots that looked like that. _And if it wasn't them…_A sick feeling began to grow in his stomach.

Lee staggered to his feet, and came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange.

---------------

"So long as hope lives, darkness can never reign. So long as one person fights, the battle is not over," James continued softly. So many eyes were watching him, and he prayed that within them, there might be hope. Nodding to them, he continued to speak, his voice level and strong. And determined.

"I will fight. I will fight until the bloody end if I must, because I believe that our world is _worth dying for_. I ask you, today, to stand with me. Do not run away. If Diagon Alley proved anything to us, it is that there is nowhere left to hide, and I ask you, I beg you, not to try. Stand with me. Fight this until the end.

"I can offer you little more than words of hope. I cannot compare to men like Sirius Black, who faced the Dark Lord down and survived, only to pay a horrible price for his defiance. But he has kept fighting. And I know he always will.

"There are many heroes, both great and small, in this world. I ask you to step forward and be one of them, to carry this battle until the end, and to remember, if nothing else, that we fight for tomorrow."

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: I've been motivated to update today, and I'm currently feeling very motivated to write. Please review, and stay tuned for PR30: The Darkness Within.


	30. Chapter 30: The Darkness Within

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty: The Darkness Within_

"Bad news, James."

Arthur's head bobbed in the fire, but it was three in the morning, and James' Deputy Minister was frowning deeply.

"What is it?"

He rubbed a hasty hand over sleep-filled eyes and replaced his glasses. A clump of hair tried doggedly to obscure his vision, but James hardly noticed. A haircut could certainly wait—Arthur was much more important, especially this early in the morning.

"Lachlan Pritchard is missing," the other explained tiredly. "I just got a call from Alice Longbottom. She had assigned Adam Macmillan—I think you know him?—to protect Pritchard, but they got ambushed by a half-dozen Death Eaters at around midnight."

"How? Where?" James tried to put his brain in order, but it was already racing. "And what was Pritchard doing out so late?"

"He was on his way from the Department of Mysteries," Arthur responded. Then he amended, "Rather, their temporary location."

James chewed on his lip briefly, thinking fast. Adam Macmillan was a good man, and one of the few Aurors who had returned to active service after spending time in Azkaban. He had been captured in October of 1991, James recalled, and everyone had thought him dead until Sirius and the others had cracked Azkaban open over eight months later. Unlike many of his fellow prisoners, Adam had chosen to stay in the Aurors, and though he had his demons, he was as good as they came. "How's Adam? I assume he's pretty banged up."

"Yeah. He's on Avalon now, but he was unconscious for several hours before he managed to find his way back."

"And Lachlan is gone." An empty feeling was growing in James' stomach, because he knew what _gone _meant. He knew what _missing_ had to signify—Lachlan Pritchard might not be dead yet, but he was well on his way towards that point. James knew the head of the Department of Mysteries far too well; a former Unspeakable, Lachlan likely did not know how to break. And even if he did, he would die. It would only be a matter of time.

_This is exactly what we _don't _need_, he thought silently, and saw Arthur nod. The older man felt the same way.

"Are they searching for him?" James had to ask.

"Frank sent Bill and Hestia Jones out as soon as Adam arrived. Adam wanted to go, too, but Frank wouldn't let him," the other replied. "Alice said she also dispatched a team, but neither had found anything as of fifteen minutes ago."

"All right." James sighed quietly, realizing he'd never get back to sleep now. "Thanks for telling me. I'll contact Avalon and see if there's anything they need. And I'd probably better talk to Adam, too, and let him know that it isn't his fault."

"It isn't yours, either, you know," Arthur said perceptively.

"Yeah," he snorted quietly. "Right."

--------------

Dawn at Hogwarts was generally considered by the professors to be one of the most beautiful times of the day. Perhaps this feeling stemmed from the fact that most students were still sleeping, which made the school feel deceptively quiet and peaceful, but whatever the reasons, Mundungus Fletcher fell among the number who were willing wake up to watch the dawn. He did so often, mostly to find peace within himself. The only different thing about this was that he did not do so alone.

And the company didn't exactly make things _peaceful_, either.

He sighed. "I don't know, Frank…" Dung said quietly, resisting the urge to bite his lip. He couldn't help shrugging, but everyone shrugged. Didn't they? "I don't… Ah, hell. Arabella talked to me about this before she died, and my answer was the same then as it is now. I don't _want _to go back."

"I know," the Auror replied. "James told me."

"Then why are you here?" Fletcher couldn't help but asking.

"Because we need you," Frank said bluntly. "And the things we want to do the least are often that which we most need to do."

Dung scowled. "Things aren't that bad," he objected. "Are they?"

"Yes."

"You're training—"

"Training, yes." Now it was Frank's turn to scowl. "Training twenty good witches and wizards to be Aurors. But _training_ takes four of us out of the field and makes Alice's job even harder. She doesn't have nearly enough Aurors to fulfill all of our obligations, let alone protect people."

"Did she ask you to come?" Dung asked, partially out of curiosity and partially to waste time. To change the subject.

"No. Sirius did."

"Oh." Dung did not know Sirius well, and probably never would. They simply weren't from the same generation, and despite the seats both held in the Inner Circle, they did not have much in common. But Dung respected the man, what he had done, and what he had faced. Sirius Black knew about demons.

"I know this isn't easy for you to hear," Frank said softly, reminding Dung that he, too, knew all about the horrors an Auror faced in the Dark Lord's hands. "And I know that you don't want to come back. Maybe, if things had been different when I got out of Azkaban, I would have felt the same way.

"But we can't _hide_, Dung. The war won't go away if you turn your back. Once upon a time, you were willing to fight for your beliefs. Are you now?"

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor swallowed. "I haven't turned my back," he said quietly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. But now you are needed elsewhere," the other replied.

"I know." The admission somehow escaped without Dung's permission, but it was true. He had known for over a year.

"Will you come back, then?"

"Maybe." He swallowed again. "But not now. I can't—I have responsibilities here, and I won't let Remus down. And I don't know how good I'll be, anyway. I've lost…a lot."

"I understand," Frank said quietly, and Dung knew he did. Few would, but those who had spent hellish weeks, months, or years in Azkaban did. Fletcher let out a long and slow breath, trying to calm the butterflies that had suddenly decided to waltz in his stomach.

"Give me until the end of the term. I'm sure Remus can find someone by then to replace me."

Frank smiled grimly. "Good man."

"Not really," Dung snorted, then managed to smile back. "Are you contacting the others, too?"

"Yes, I am. I came to you first, though."

"Ah."

The others, as both Frank and Dung knew, were Frank's fellow prisoners from Azkaban—while most of those Voldemort had kept alive in the prison had been political figures or personal enemies, seven of them had been Aurors, and of those seven, only four had returned to active service. Just as Dung had resigned two years before Azkaban was breeched, Amanda Pieters, Stephen Hoppner, and Amy Wortman had chosen to leave the Aurors. For the most part, the division had let them go. But times had changed, now, and the shattered Ministry of Magic needed all the Aurors it could get. He sighed.

"I understand."

Frank's smile grew relieved. "Thanks."

--------------

Hestia crossed her arms over her chest and adopted a mulish expression that made Bill want to wince. The only reason he stopped himself was the fact that they weren't alone—Alice Longbottom wasn't quite as accustomed to Hestia's eccentricities as he was, and the last thing he needed was to spark an argument with Hestia _now_. Not only would doing so be grossly unprofessional, but it would also get in the way of what they were trying to get done. Even if he didn't agree with her.

"There's no sign of Pritchard," his fellow instructor said bluntly. "We've searched high and low, and come to the conclusion that he must held in some new location chosen by his captors."

"Or Azkaban," Bill added darkly, earning himself a sharp look from Hestia.

"I don't think he's there," she disagreed. "We have no evidence that Voldemort is keeping prisoners there again—"

"And none that he isn't," Bill countered, and then felt like slapping himself for sounding so argumentative. He and Hestia had been through this; there was no reason to do it again in front of Alice, especially when they had real news to report.

"Actually­­—"

"Never mind," he cut her off. "Go on."

Hestia nodded curtly; at least she knew when to quit. That was probably the only reason why the pair could argue so much and remain friends. "Right. At any rate, Bill and I checked out the Riddle House, Alice."

The other Auror's head snapped around to glare at them both. "Whatever possessed you to do that?" she demanded. "Both of you are experienced enough to know how many Aurors we've lost near that place! What in the _world_ made you so reckless?"

"The fact that Minister Pritchard's life might prove to be more important than either of ours," Bill answered quietly, and saw some of Alice's anger fade. Slightly.

"Even then…" she growled, then shook herself. "Fine. You've clearly survived the experience, so tell me what you found."

"Nothing," Hestia answered promptly. "Or no sign of Minister Pritchard, anyway."

"But…?" Alice prompted.

"There was something else," Bill answered. "What, we don't know…and we agree on even less. But there _was _something—we watched the place for over twelve hours, and there were a lot of Death Eaters coming and going. More than we expected."

"Including the Lestranges," Hestia added darkly. "The live two, anyway."

Alice's eyebrows rose. It was no secret that Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange _never _left Azkaban, unless the Dark Lord was up to something especially devious. They were the only Death Eaters who lived on the island, and Bill knew from personal experience that neither Lestrange was especially sane. And even Voldemort didn't like using tools he could not control, so he rarely allowed the pair to prey on the world at large. Their instability was probably the only thing the Aurors and the Dark Lord agreed on, which meant their presence at the Riddle House was important.

"And?" Alice finally asked.

"And we don't know," Hestia admitted. "But there's something going on there."

Alice scowled for a moment before replying, "We'll check it out, then. Make sure you tell Sirius when you return to Avalon, and in the meantime, I'll put Dawlish on it. If anyone can find out what's going on there, he can."

--------------****

"Can you believe it?" Ron asked excitedly, as he and Harry hurried back from the Quidditch pitch, covered in mud and soaking wet. The rain had stopped, but the cloud-filled sky hinted that those circumstances might not last, and both boys wanted to get inside before getting hit by another downpour.

Harry grinned. "I told you that you'd make it."

"Yeah, but you should have heard what Fred and George were saying," Ron replied, scowling. "Stupid brothers."

"Yeah, well—" Harry started to speak, but was cut off when Hermione came flying in their direction. She wasn't nearly as wet as the boys, but her frizzy hair was definitely less wild than usual, which told Harry that she, too, had been caught by the storm.

"Did you make it?" she demanded, skidding to a stop in front of them. However, her balance wasn't quite up to countering the slippery ground, and Hermione's feet slipped out from under her, making her collapse with a splash at the boys feet. She howled, and mud flew everywhere.

Laughing, Harry and Ron helped her up, and caught her when she almost fell a second time.

"It's not funny!" Hermione objected.

Ron snorted. "Yes it is," he replied cheerfully. "And yeah, I made it. You're looking at Gryffindor's new Keeper!"

"That's wonderful, Ron," she grinned. "But you'd better make sure you don't ignore your homework the way Harry does—"

"Oh, don't start on that," Harry interrupted. "It's only the sixth day of classes, and I haven't forgotten anything yet!"

"That's because you haven't had any Quidditch practices, and tryouts were _mostly _on the weekends," Hermione countered reasonably.

"Oh, enough already," Ron broke in. "You're starting to sound like my mum."

"I'm not that bad."

"Not yet, you aren't," Ron muttered darkly, and Harry laughed. Hermione ignored him, but Harry thought he saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face. Together, the muddy second-years peeked through the front doors before they dared to step inside—old habits died hard, and the last person they needed to run into was Filch, especially when they were covered in mud. However, their luck held as they rushed up the stairs, finding the route to the Gryffindor common room was much more straightforward than usual. Harry frowned. It almost seemed as if the castle was speeding them along their way…but that was impossible. Why would Hogwarts do that?

"So, have you seen Fred and George?" he asked Hermione, more to forestall another spat between her and Ron than for any other reason. "They weren't at tryouts today."

She frowned. "I saw them talking to Professor Fletcher earlier, but I don't think they were in trouble."

"Well, that's a relief," Ron grinned. "Wouldn't want them starting anything without us."

"We won't be starting anything," a subdued voice suddenly interrupted, and Fred and George came around the corner, meeting the trio right in their common room.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped, and Harry felt a lump forming in his stomach. He had never seen Fred or George like this, not ever. Even in the worst of times, the twins were eternal optimists. But the empty hurt on both faces was impossible to miss, and Harry immediately knew that something was wrong.

"What?" Ron asked. "What happened?"

George swallowed. "Professor Fletcher let us Fire Call Lee when he didn't return our letters."

"We figured that his mum might have found out that we were going to come after him, and we wanted to apologize for getting him in trouble," Fred continued. "But it turns out that we shouldn't have bothered."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked warily, and George grimaced.

"Lee's gone," he replied. "His mum said he left on September first."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But that's—"

"He left when we didn't come," Fred said quietly. "Because he expected us and we didn't come."

"And no one knows where he is. We told Professor Fletcher everything after Mrs. Jordan said he hadn't come back. No one has seen him for ten days."

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered.

"He said he'd look for Lee," Fred said after a moment. "Professor Fletcher. But…" He shrugged, and the Misfits exchanged glances.

Harry swallowed back the sudden pain in his chest. "If Voldemort has him…" He could not finish.

"It's our fault," George said flatly, making the others' heads turn sharply. "Whatever happens."

"No, it isn't," Hermione objected. "The two of you just tried to help a friend, and we did as much as you."

"She's right," Ron piped up. "It's our fault as much as it's yours."

George shook his head. "It was our idea."

"And we were there right along beside you," Harry disagreed, swallowing. "We knew the risks. Or we should have, anyway."

"But we didn't," Hermione said quietly. "And what happens now?"

--------------

Lee opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to, but knowing he had to anyway. He would have continued faking unconsciousness for as long as he could, but a small voice in his head argued that doing so would be a bad idea…especially since the louder voice _outside _his head was saying the same thing.

"Wakey, wakey, little boy," Bellatrix Lestrange giggled. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it had to be her; he'd never seen her before that night…_how long ago was that? _The hours all blurred together. She hadn't spoken a word, then, simply stunned him into unconsciousness, but somehow he _knew _that the sing-song little voice had to be hers. It simply didn't fit anyone else.

A sharp-toed boot contacted abruptly with his ribcage, and Lee yelped. "Get up," another voice hissed. "Do you always lie so lazily in the presence of your betters?"

Groggily, Lee looked up into the twisted face of Rodolphus Lestrange—he recognized it from many _Prophet _articles detailing the couple's atrocities. The Death Eater stared back at him angrily, sneering, while his wife kicked Lee in the side again. Then, before he could even think of standing, the Lestranges reached down and dragged him to his feet. How long had he been there? He had no way to remember, but all the cold days in Azkaban whirled into one. For all he knew, it could have been _years_…

He shivered, thinking of the Dementors who floated near him during the night, and the long hours spent wondering what had happened and how he had come to be in Azkaban, the one place he had never thought he would end up. He didn't _belong _there. He was just a kid trying to get back to school. He just wanted to go back.

"Kneel, boy," a voice snapped, and an iron hand pressed down on his shoulder, forcing Lee to his knees.

But he barely noticed when his knees made hard contact with the stone floor, because he _knew _that voice. Lee knew those long fingered and pale hands—he had seen them mixing potions for the last three years. Blinking again, he craned his neck upwards to stare at a Death Eater's stark white mask and the cold black eyes behind it. Snape's hard hand remained locked on his shoulder, but that was not what hurt the most. _But he's…_

"He's not very bright, is he?" Bellatrix Lestrange giggled again.

"Enough, Bella."

The freezing cold voice was finally enough to tear Lee's eyes away from his Potions professor, but he soon wished he had not. He had never seen eyes glow red before.

Yet the voice turned strangely quiet. "Welcome to Azkaban, Lee Jordan."

--------------

_September 10, 1992 _

**EVIL AMONG US**

_by _Rita Skeeter, _Special Correspondent_

Many long years ago, when two witches and two wizards created

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they envisioned a

safe haven in which Wizarding children could learn and grow,

developing into responsible individuals who would lead our

world. But everyone knows the story of Gryffindor, Slytherin,

Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. We learn those tales as children.

What the world does not know is that there is evil in Hogwarts.

Death lurks within the great school's shadows, making those

who know yearn for the golden days before Death Eaters were

allowed to teach. Yes. Death Eaters.

Severus Snape, senior of the eighth of the Fourteen Families.

Long has the world wondered if this pureblooded and cold

professor has any ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but now

there is undeniable proof. Proof exists that the Deputy

_Headmaster_ of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is

indeed a Death Eater—he is, in fact, one of the most loyal and

trusted followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Several of his

victims have come forward, and though they are terrified to have

their identities revealed, there is no doubt who their tormentor

was.

And yet one must wonder who else knows, that this icon of

Darkness is teaching at Hogwarts. Certainly, a wizard reputed to

be as intelligent and talented as Headmaster Remus J. Lupin

could not happen to _miss _the fact that his own deputy is a Death

Eater—but what if he does know? And, for that matter, _is _Snape

alone at Hogwarts?

There is no way to know, but parents beware. With Death

Eaters creeping in the ancient school's halls, there is no telling

who the next innocent victim will be. There is no way to

know who will suffer. Hundreds of parents sent their children to

Hogwarts this year, believing they would be safe. However, the

very presence of Severus Snape proves that this is a lie, and

with a monster like him on the loose, it is our children, our

_future _that will suffer.

--------------

"He _is_ a Death Eater, you know," Frank said quietly, making Sirius' head turn. He was currently engrossed in Rowena Ravenclaw's massive work, _On Avalon_, which he had uncovered underneath a stack of miscellaneous papers and about a pound of dirt. Although the Aurors had returned to Avalon, the island had only been inhabited by students and instructors, one group of which was not allowed to explore, and the other had not the time to do so. So far, Sirius had only had time to unearth around a quarter of the treasures hidden in Avalon's vast library, and he had already found several gems.

"Of course he is," Sirius agreed. They were alone in the library; with Hestia and Bill still working on the Pritchard Case, and Kingsley administering the first tests of Phase III, the island seemed eerily quiet. Still, the two senior Aurors had talked of home and of hopes, until Frank brought the _Daily Prophet _article up.

"I imagine you saw him in Azkaban, or at least heard his voice there," he continued. "As I did."

"And he's a spy for the Order," Frank said quietly, making Sirius finally look up from _On Avalon_.

"Who told you that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone disinterested, but unable to completely do so.

"You did. Just now." Frank smiled slightly. "I wasn't sure, until you replied so casually that you knew he was a Death Eater."

"I should have known you were angling for something like that."

"Always." For a split second, the other's shadowed eyes twinkled. "I did not want to think of Remus as such a fool. Nor did I want to think of Snape as irredeemable."

Sirius arched his eyebrows curiously. "Oh?"

"You forget that I was a prefect during your second year," Frank replied. "I spent some quality time tutoring young Severus Snape when Professor McGonagall caught me and Alice in a…compromising situation. She decided that tutoring a Slytherin in Transfiguration was fitting punishment for such indiscretions."

"I never knew that," Sirius snickered.

"Few did. He wasn't exactly eager to admit he was doing poorly in Transfiguration, or that a Gryffindor prefect was tutoring him."

"I can imagine."

"Regardless, over the span of four months, I got to know him a little. Of course, he was a slimy and obnoxious little twit, but once I got beneath that…he was different." Frank shrugged. "He always struck me as someone searching for something to believe in. I always grieved that he found that in Voldemort."

"Hmm." Odd how the passage he had been reading had spoken about the differences between reality and perception. Rowena Ravenclaw had been a wise woman, indeed. _'In that what we see is often what we believe _must _be true, we fail to search beneath the surface and find what truly lies below.' _Wise, yes, but entirely too cryptic. Sirius had a strange feeling that Ravenclaw would have liked Albus Dumbledore.

"How long has he been with us?" the other asked curiously. Sirius hesitated before answering, though, making Frank smile. "Never mind. I understand."

"Thank you."

_'That which we are is often so very different from what we appear to be, and Avalon, as a world, is no different. Many years have I spent upon this island, and I have yet to understand all of its secrets. So much remains hidden on this Isle of Magic, especially as more and more forget what once _was_ in an effort to predict what _will be_ What they fail to understand is that Avalon is neither past nor future, neither here nor there. Avalon will always be both more and less than it seems.'_

"So, how long do you plan on staying?" Frank suddenly asked, interrupting Rowena Ravenclaw's words. It took Sirius a moment to register the question, for he'd been reading and thinking, knowing that there was a deeper meaning but unable to quite grasp it. He shrugged at first, thinking to offer a flippant answer…but Frank deserved better.

"Until I can stay no longer," he answered quietly.

Frank's head came up out of _Protectors of an Empire: A History of the Earliest Aurors. _"No longer?"

"There are things I must learn here. Things I must do." Even with Frank, who had shared many of Sirius' darkest experiences and even darker fears, he could not speak of what. No one knew, and no one would, until he had to tell those who most deserved to know. "The day I leave this island, Frank, will probably be the day I face Voldemort again."

Dark eyes met his openly. "Then I pray, my friend, that day comes when you will it. Not at his command."

There were no words to say, but Sirius nodded. Both knew that forcing Voldemort's hand was damn near impossible…but they also both knew that Sirius would have to try. Even if the effort killed him.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: So, here's the long awaited PR30—I'm sorry that it took longer than I'd hoped, but things have been hectic this week. However, next up is "The Sixth Circle," also known as the chapter where Something Evil and Something Interesting happen, though not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily what you think. And now that I've confused you, please review!


	31. Chapter 31: The Sixth Circle

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-One: The Sixth Circle_

Remus glanced over his shoulder into a pair of glowing eyes. "It is time," he told his companion.

Slowly, the phoenix nodded.

--------------

The same note reached seven people that afternoon, delivered with the speed and secrecy only a phoenix could muster. Of the five, only Lily Potter ever saw Fawkes, and that was more a trick of chance and talent than anything else. A phoenix who wished to remain invisible would always do so, no matter what the circumstances…and even to friends. Knowing this, Lily did not smile, for she knew it was time.

The notes arrived unsealed, simply tied like a scroll with a single blue ribbon. But if one looked closely enough, and had thought to do so, the pale outline of a phoenix was visible where a seal might otherwise have been, with its wings spread wide in flight. In freedom.

Each of the seven recipients gently touched the phoenix before unrolling the letter. They did not have to, but all understood.

--------------

_**Your presence is requested at the Country House.**_

_**The time shall come at Twelve o' Clock, Post Meridiem.**_

_**The Sixth Circle forms.**_

--------------

Some took easier routes to the Country House than others, of course, though all were required to arrive in the same manner. Lily simply stood and walked into the next room, noticing the scroll in her husband's hand as he nodded in return. She had been planning to spend the afternoon working with the Unicorn Group on Clean Air, just as James had planned to meet with Arthur. Both engagements, however, were now out of the question.

"I'll call the Burrow," she said with a half smile. "If we invite them to dinner, Molly can fill me in while you meet with Arthur."

"Sounds like a plan," James replied, and his return grin made her smile grow. For months, the remaining members of the Inner Circle had feared that they would never reform the Circle, and that they would be left to carry on, crippled and alone. The Inner Circle was small enough, even when filled, and recent events had only made it harder for all of them. Now, however, their fears seemed to be unjustified, and that dark fate was not to come.

_Thank Merlin_, Lily thought to herself, then wondered if she should not thank _Fawkes_ instead. When she'd first joined the Order o the Phoenix, Lily had thought the name nothing more than symbolic, perhaps inspired by Fawkes, but not caused by him. She had thought, quite correctly, that using a creature who rose from the ashes to live again was a potent symbol, one that an organization formed to fight evil could proudly bear. Lily had thought of hope and of logic, not of mysticism and powers beyond human comprehension.

Back then, she had no way to know that the original Inner Circle had been formed from the Order's first members, or of the integral role Fawkes had played in choosing those few…and all of their successors. She had not understood that the Order of the Phoenix, in many ways, belonged to the phoenix. To Fawkes.

It had taken Dumbledore's death and Fawkes' refusal to allow a Sixth Circle to drive that point home. Despite how many inductions she had participated in, none of them had proven that fact to Lily—she had always known of Dumbledore's special relationship with his phoenix, and had assumed that Fawkes was simply acting on Dumbledore's behalf. It had been the logical conclusion, after all.

Then Dumbledore had died, and Fawkes had carried on. And the Circle was reforming, hopefully for the final time.

--------------

He walked towards the Primary Apparation Center with not one letter in his hand, but two. The first was identical to the scroll his six companions had received, but the second was a personal letter from Remus, delivered by a boringly normal (if slightly frazzled) Hogwarts owl. That one, at least, prepared him for what came next.

"Sirius?" a voice spoke from his right, approaching from the direction of the Instructor's Quarters. Its expected presence made the senior Auror turn, smiling slightly—if he had to break his vow to stay on Avalon, he could hardly think of better company to do so in.

"Hello, Bill," he replied, shifting to face the younger man. Sirius still felt stiff, still felt different, but he was closer to himself once again, and that allowed him to smile—and mean it, for once.

Rarely had he seen Bill Weasley appear uncomfortable, but the other Auror was shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "I received a letter," Bill said dubiously. "It asked me to find you, and to follow you to the… 'Country House'?"

"I thought as much." Sirius gestured with his own letter to explain the remark. "Do you know why?"

Bill shook his head. "I don't have a clue."

"Walk with me, then," he replied, and Bill fell into step beside him. They strolled forward in silence for several moments, each listening to the quiet sounds of nighttime Avalon, and doing their own mental checks to make sure the island was all right. After they moved past the Student Quarters, Sirius continued: "What did your letter say?"

"Something about being brought into the Circle." Bill shrugged. "But what circle? And who is this from?"

Sirius studied his companion for a long moment, and saw the other's mind working furiously. Bill was a very smart man, downright brilliant in many ways—and he was one of the best riddle solvers that Sirius had ever met. Cases that had stumped many Aurors were child's play for Bill Weasley, because it was instinctive for him to tear problems apart and look at every angle before giving up. If anyone could figure Remus' cryptic letter out, it would be him.

"What do you think it is?" he finally asked.

"There was a phoenix on the outside of the scroll," was the immediate reply, and Sirius saw brown eyes twinkle briefly. "Very faint, and hardly visible, but there."

"Yes, there was."

Bill frowned slightly. "I've never received a letter from the Order before."

"Nor will you again, unless things go terribly wrong," Sirius said quietly, taking one last glance around. He was certain that they were alone, but Aurors didn't live by making assumptions. "You know we have an Inner Circle."

"Yes, but—you're not serious?" Bill started.

Sirius nodded. "I will take you to the Country House, where the Circle will be formed. I do not know what seat you will fill, but from this moment forward, you are one of us."

"Why me?" Bill finally asked after a long moment of silence.

"Why any of us?" Sirius countered. "I joined the Circle when I was younger than you are now. I had little experience, and was virtually of no use to the Order, but I was chosen anyway. The same could be said for many of our number…at least in the beginning. There is no why, Bill. The Circle simply is."

--------------

Peter looked down at his shaking hands. "I've refused this before," he whispered.

"And that was then," Remus replied gently. "We both know things are different now."

They were standing together under the beech tree which had once been the Marauders' favorite tree and still meant a great deal to all of them. Remus had asked Peter to meet him there since Apparating onto Hogwarts grounds was impossible and the lake wasn't too far from the boundaries. The headmaster was glad that he'd picked such a significant place, though it had not been intentional. Perhaps the old surroundings could help calm Peter's nerves.

"I'm still—"

"The same person," Remus finished for him. "Still our friend, and still someone I trust."

Peter flinched. "Trust," he snorted. "I refused Dumbledore because I was afraid. That hasn't changed, either."

"Afraid of what?"

"Failing. Of not being strong enough." His voice dropped to a raw whisper. "Betraying you."

"But you never did," Remus reminded his friend. "And you've shown remarkable courage by betraying Voldemort, and—no, don't argue, Peter. I'm speaking as the Order's head, not just as your friend. You deserve this seat. More importantly, you can help the Order by taking it."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." The headmaster chuckled gently, watching the surprise on Peter's face. "What you've done across Europe, and in France especially, has been of great service to the Order. Now I must ask you to do more."

Peter frowned sourly. "I'm not courageous."

"Yes, you are," Remus disagreed. "And you always have been, because doing what you fear most takes the greatest kind of courage."

"If fear equals courage, I'm a Muggle superhero," Peter's laugh was nervous, which made Remus reach out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Years of friendship had made Peter a stronger man, but one moment of weakness still haunted him—even if he had acted for the right reasons. His time as a Death Eater shamed him, Remus knew, and years of hiding behind lies had made "little" Peter think of himself as a coward.

It didn't help that most of the Wizarding world seemed to agree with him.

"You're closer than you think, Wormtail," he said after a moment. "Sure, none of this comes easily to you, but that only makes your actions more admirable. You aren't a _natural _hero like Sirius or James. You've never sought or wanted to be in the spotlight. But that doesn't make what you do any less necessary. Or any less courageous."

"'Anyone can be a hero'?" Peter quoted, rolling his eyes. "You're starting to sound like James, mate." The response was flippant, even bitter, but Remus saw the emotion in Peter's eyes and did not press. Even after so long, there were some feelings that best friends found difficult to express.

"Maybe I am," he agreed slowly. "And maybe I'm crazy, too. But will you come be crazy with me?" Remus held out his right hand, offering power, hardship, risk…and perhaps, finally a way to find peace and atone for old wrongs.

"Ah, hell!" Peter cursed. "You really want me, don't you?"

"Yes. We do."

His friend scowled at the simple response. "This might turn out to be the stupidest choice you've ever made."

"I'll take that risk," Remus said levelly.

"Are you sure?" Suddenly, the bitterness was gone, and for the first time in two decades, Remus was staring at the same lonely and frightened little boy he had first met on the Hogwarts Express. The same loneliness and uncertainty resided in Peter's green eyes, something that Remus, James, and Sirius had thought they had eliminated years ago. They had tried to heal him, and had thought they succeeded.

Seeing that, Remus desperately wanted to reach out…but he did not. As a friend, he should have. As the head of the Order of the Phoenix, he could not. Peter had to face this before it killed him, and doing so was a decision he would have to make alone.

His hand still hung in the air between them.

"I—" Peter took a deep and shuddering breath. Remus smiled.

"I know."

Peter took the hand.

--------------

"Shall we, Severus?"

The Potions Master's head jerked up like a spooked cat, and he scowled as the interruption forced him to look up from the stack of papers on his desk. However, his visitor chuckled, unaffected by the glare. Only Severus Snape would give a major exam just twelve days into the term.

"Depart, of course," Fletcher laughed.

"What—_oh_." Snape's scowl deepened, which, as Dung had learned long ago, was his equivalent of a blush. Snape never reddened, but he scowled well and often. Now, he stood in a flurry of black robes and angry eyes. "Yes."

"Are you all right?" Dung asked worriedly, watching his friend. It was 11:45, and Snape hadn't looked at all like he expected to leave Hogwarts anytime soon, even though it would take them a good fifteen minutes to get far enough across the grounds in order to Apparate to their destination.

"Quite," the other replied shortly. "I simply lost track of time."

"Ah." But something was wrong. Dung couldn't pinpoint what, but something was wrong.

Snape shot him a sideways glance, then gestured at the door. "After you."

"Right." Dung had managed to forget that he was still leaning on the doorframe, effectively blocking the only exit from Snape's office. He bounced away, wishing that there wasn't such an odd feeling growing in his stomach. "Let's go."

They walked though the darkened castle in silence, fortunately running afoul of no wandering students, be they sneaky Slytherins or brash Gryffindors. Now it was the Gryffindor head of house's turn to scowl. Fletcher often envied the respective heads of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Somehow, their students seemed less inclined to creep around after hours and create trouble. Dung snorted to himself. Then again, he even envied Severus his Slytherins—as sneaky as they could be. At least Severus didn't have _all _of the so-called Magical and Invisible Society For Instigating Trouble in his house! The Misfits, Dung corrected himself grimly, _plus _their newest and truest convert. Only two days before, he'd found out the hard way that little Ginny Weasley wasn't nearly as innocent as she looked.

"What?" Snape asked abruptly, startling Fletcher into missing a stride.

"Eh?"

"You snorted."

"Oh. I was just thinking about my…_well-behaved_ Gryffindors," Dung replied with a half smile. He knew that Severus, the everlasting Slytherin, would have something to say about that.

Surprisingly, he didn't. Instead, the Deputy Headmaster asked, "So, how has teaching the Dark Arts been thus far?"

"Not bad." Dung shrugged. "I'd rather you were teaching it, but…not bad."

"Frankly, I'm glad to see you there," Snape replied, startling the ex-Auror.

"What?"

"I understand Remus' reasons for keeping me out of the Dark Arts classroom," the Death Eater said levelly. "All of them, including the ones he won't admit having. But what _he _doesn't understand—at least, what I think he doesn't understand—is why I wanted the job in the first place."

He paused, seemingly waiting for a reply. After a long moment, Dung ventured: "I know you have a lot of experience…"

"Experience." Snape snorted. "That's the last thing I want to share with these children." His voice lowered, and Fletcher saw some of the bitterness seep off of his face. "What I want…_wanted_ was to teach them not to walk the road I did. To show them that darkness is worth fighting."

Dung swallowed in the intervening silence. Rarely, if ever, had he heard Snape speak so openly, so honestly. And he would have never expected this. It was strange; although he readily would call Severus Snape a friend, even a good friend, he hadn't thought that the other wizard shared his outlook on darkness. On the war. On teaching.

"That's why I'm glad to see you teaching the class," Severus continued after a moment. "Because I know that, no matter what lies in your past, you will show them that the right path does exist…even if it isn't always the easy one."

"Thanks." He swallowed.

"For what?"

"Believing that I can do that," Dung replied so honestly that he surprised himself. "I've wondered about the same thing, sometimes."

Snape shot him another sideways glance. "Whatever for?"

"Because I think I'm going to have to go back to the Aurors, unless I want to turn myself into a hypocrite and ignore my own lessons." There. He'd said it. Dung had finally voiced the decision that had plagued him since the day 'Bella Figg had died. _"I need you, Mundungus. You knew this would come," _she had once told him. After nearly four months, he could finally admit that she was right.

"When?" Severus seemed unsurprised; he didn't ask the useless questions, just _when?_ Nothing else mattered.

"I'm not sure," Fletcher admitted. "At the end of the school year, if the war's not over. Maybe sooner, if I'm needed." The next words escaped before he could stop them. "But I really don't want to."

"I know." Severus smiled grimly, and paused for a heartbeat. "I understand."

--------------

The feeling sank in the moment he lifted his wand: a feeling of oppressive darkness, of destruction, and of victory. But he recognized the distant laughter far too late to act; he was in the Apparation Center, and Avalon was already fading around him.

The dizziness struck as his feet landed on the dirt of a windswept field, and Sirius stumbled, something he never did after Apparating. For an Auror, any unplanned motion could turn into suicide, and he'd never been one to trip over his own two feet. Sirius barely managed to catch himself before falling, and he felt his head spin faster in reaction to the sudden movement. Familiar nausea rose, and Sirius choked it back, shaking his head in a failed effort to clear it. Staring at the burnt—_burnt?_—grass, he tried to catch his balance, and stumbled instead. Everything was so cold. So _dark_.

"Dear God," Bill whispered from his right, making Sirius' head snap up.

Remus was there. So were James and Lily, along with Snape and Dung. So was Peter, which he had expected, but was still pleased to see. But the ramshackle and beat-up old house that he had also been expecting to see…wasn't.

The Country House was _gone_.

There was hardly even a trace of it, save for a few chunks of charred wood strewn around the field. The house had been yellow, Sirius recalled, but no evidence of that color remained—everything was black. Black and poking out of a smoke-filled crater in the ground, mostly in the form of ashes and a few still-burning flames.

"It's gone." The ragged voice belonged to Fletcher, who looked stricken. To his right, however, Snape looked furious.

"_How_?" Lily whispered brokenly.

"He was here," Sirius said abruptly, speaking before he could stop himself. "Just moments ago." He shuddered, but the nausea was fading. "He was here."

Even as the last word left his mouth, the Dark Mark blinked to life in the sky, and everyone fell silent. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done—and Fawkes was now the long flash of color in the crater, weeping quietly amongst the ruins.

Eight pale faces watched—six who had been in the Circle for years, and two who already understood enough to be heartbroken. Fawkes finally went still, but even a phoenix's tears could not heal the damage done. Sirius stood frozen with the others, feeling the heavy sense of darkness fade…but staring at the Mark in the sky and feeling its twin prickle on his forearm was unnerving. He could still feel the evil Voldemort had left behind.

"How did he know?" James asked, his voice cracking.

"I don't know," Remus admitted. His blue eyes were filled with pain, and he was so pale that it seemed like someone had drained all the blood from his body. If Sirius hadn't known better, he would have guessed that the destruction of the Country House caused Remus physical pain.

Another long moment of silence followed before Dung whispered, "What now?"

Remus swallowed as Fawkes' head came up, and Sirius watched their eyes meet. The phoenix looked haggard and defeated amid the wreckage, and his eyes, too, were dull with pain. In fact, Fawkes and Remus bore uncanny resemblances to one another at the moment, more so in spirit than in a physical manner, but it came close enough to spook Sirius. _The darkness binds them, _he realized. _The darkness and something more._

Slowly, Remus turned to face them. "We cannot reform," he said sadly. "Not today."

A ripple ran though the small group, a ripple of sadness and...something else. Anger. Voldemort had sought to make a statement, but Sirius realized that he had made a mistake. The Dark Mark burned in the sky above them, but something darker burned within their souls. Yes, the Dark Lord had sent a message. However, Sirius wondered exactly what Voldemort had expected as a reply.

He wondered if anyone knew.

"We will form again," Remus continued. "When, I cannot say, but…this is not over.

"Until we do, remember this day. Remember that evil can strike even that which is most dear to us. If we fail to fight it, we shall end up like the Country House, burnt out and with friends weeping amongst our ashes." Movement caught Sirius' eye, and everyone watched silently as Fawkes lifted off the ground and flew unevenly to land on Remus' right shoulder. Silver tears still shone in his eyes, and Remus seemed to sense them. He never looked up, but he reached up to stroke Fawkes' head, and the phoenix whistled mournfully in thanks. While the pair stood in silence, they seemed to blend together like a shadowy stature.

"We must stand together," Remus said softly. "As we fight or fall, the Inner Circle _must not break_."

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Again I apologize for the delay; I had a hard time getting this done, and my beta had a hard time finding a few spare moments to read it. But thank you for reading, and stick around for PR32: "The Darkness Comes," in which traitors, dark magic, and danger abound. Also, please do review! We authors love to hear what you think.


	32. Chapter 32: The Darkness Comes

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Two: The Darkness Comes_

"Well, that's it, then," Alice said with a sigh. "Thanks for trying."

Bill nodded for the pair. "Not hard enough, we didn't."

"You did everything you could," Adam MacMillan intervened, sucking in a shuddering breath. His usually cheerful face was drawn and pale from many hours of missed sleep, and his brown eyes were dark from the pain of failure. "I guess I knew… Ever since Mulciber and Flint came out of the shadows at us, I had to know that this would happen."

"It's not your fault, either, Adam," Alice said gently.

"Right." The Auror snorted. "Tell that to Minister Pritchard's family."

Hestia's head jerked up; she'd been staring at a tourist map of Muggle London that she'd swiped hours before from a passing Muggle, but the dejection in Adam's voice made her features harden. "They've contacted you?"

"Just his wife," the other shrugged. "She was…upset. I understand."

"Still, it's not her place to blame you," Bill replied. "You did all you could."

Adam rolled his bloodshot eyes. "Sometimes, your best isn't enough, Weasley," he said quietly. "Sometimes…" he took a deep breath and stopped, shaking his head.

"We know." Surprisingly, it was Hestia who replied, and her voice was far quieter than usual. "You don't have to say it."

"Thanks," Adam whispered, and the silence stretched on. Finally, another quiet voice broke it.

"Damn this war," Alice sighed. "Back before…before the attack on the Ministry, I'd have called up the Personnel Division, and they'd have sent someone to talk to Mrs. Pritchard. Now, though…" She shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Adam. I'll talk to the Unspeakables, but there isn't much I can do.

"Don't worry about it," the Auror replied. "I understand." Adam managed to smile slightly, a half-sick and heartfelt expression that the others returned. Bill did, too, all the while wondering if he had been in MacMillan's place, could he have been so charitable? He tried not to frown. _No, _Bill knew. _I would have wanted to scream at Mrs. Pritchard and say that I did my _best_, dammit. And even Aurors are human. Sometimes we fail. _He shivered.

_And sometimes we die._

"Next order of business," Alice said firmly, turning to another Auror. "The Riddle House."

Bill resisted the urge to grimace. While searching for the now-deceased Lachlan Pritchard, he and Hestia had uncovered an unusual degree of activity at the normally quiet and empty Riddle House. Years before, it had been one of Voldemort's primary bases, but the old mansion had fallen into disuse after the fall of Azkaban. _Or so we thought, anyway_, Bill reminded himself. Something was happening there. Something dark.

But it hadn't been Pritchard. Alice had brought _that _news with her to Avalon; what Bill and Hestia had suspected all along had been confirmed by one of the Order's spies, just like Pritchard's death. However, tragedy that the death of a senior minister might be, it was not enough to bring Alice Longbottom to Avalon. She rarely came to the Aurors' Island these days, although more and more Aurors had begun basing there after the Diagon Alley attack. Avalon might have been reactivated to train new Aurors, but the quite period was over. Once again, the isle was becoming the Aurors' full-fledged headquarters. A few Aurors had even taken to living on the island, like Derek Dawlish, who had Apparated home into an apartment full of Death Eaters and had promptly Apparated back out again.

Alice, however, was different. Although her husband lived on Avalon and her son was at Hogwarts, she was much too busy acting as Sirius Black's eyes and ears within the Ministry. After his recovery, Sirius had again resumed control of the division, but the rarely left the island—in fact, Bill strongly suspected that he was the only one who knew that Sirius had left Avalon three days before. Frank might have been told…but Bill was not sure. Sirius had acquired an uneasy habit of disappearing for odd lengths of time, and often, even the instructors could not find him. Why he did that, Bill did not know, but he suspected that it had something to do with Voldemort.

Dawlish, however, was speaking. "My team is ready to go," he told Alice. "We don't have enough people to cover the Riddle House twenty-four hours a day, but I've got roving patrols set up, and we'll go into active surveillance during hours that Death Eaters are most likely to be there."

"Magical or physical?" Alice wanted to know.

"Physical," Dawlish replied. "There's bound to be wards and counter charms protecting against any type of surveillance spells, so I'll have someone there every night."

"Have them be careful," she warned, frowning. But she didn't argue. Dawlish was the team leader, and it was his mission to construct—Auror policy tried to let the wizard in the field do his own planning, because he would be the one taking the risks, not just making the decisions. Of course, Auror policy also forbade switching teams out in mid-mission, too, but Bill and Hestia were instructors, which overrode everything else.

"Not a problem, Ma'am," Oscar Whitenack, Dawlish's second-in-command replied. "From what we've heard about that place, it isn't exactly the type of place that I'd want to spend the winter."

"Not at all," Taylor Hall replied. To his right, the fourth and final member of their team, Missy Erickson, nodded emphatically. Despite the feelings on their face, all four looked ready. Then again, Bill and Hestia had already passed on everything they knew, which although not much, might make or break the mission. Little things often did.

"Good." Alice rose from her chair, and the others followed suit. "Let's get this thing done."

--------------

"Remus!" Snape burst into the headmaster's office, startling Remus out of a warm and comfortable catnap. It mattered not that he hadn't _intended _to fall asleep at his desk; the Font had been feeding him increasingly dark and numerous visions lately, and he was exhausted by them.

Regardless, by the time his eyes snapped open, Remus was fully awake. Pain like that simply didn't enter Severus' voice every day.

He was on his feet without realizing it. "What happened?"

"The Dark Lord." The usually immaculately groomed Potions Master was disheveled and out of breath. "Coming to Hogwarts. Now."

"_Now_?"

Thanks to Severus' spying efforts, Remus had known that Voldemort planned on attacking the school in mid-September, but he had expected more warning than this. Even the Font had not—Yes. It had. Somehow, it had _known_.

"We have an hour," Snape gasped. "Perhaps less."

--------------

The two Aurors crouched together in the shadows, with the younger one chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

"Sorry to call you out here, Derek," Oscar Whitenack apologized quietly. Neither even attempted to tear their eyes off of the Riddle House. "But there's something…twisted going on here."

"Twisted?" his team leader echoed.

"Yeah. I don't know what other word to use," the younger Auror replied. "First it was the screams, and the laughter…they were different, somehow. But now it seems like all the Death Eaters have left."

"All of them?" Dawlish demanded.

Oscar nodded. Normally, the Riddle House wasn't left so open, so unguarded. Ever since the Death Eaters had suddenly reappeared in the Little Hangleton mansion, there had been a flurry of activity almost every day—and even more at night. The screams were especially unnerving, even for the Aurors, who should have been numb to such things but could not be. However, the Riddle House was now eerily silent, and that very silence set Oscar's teeth on edge.

"Even the Lestranges are gone. Well, Rodolphus, anyway. Bellatrix left late last night, according to Missy," Oscar replied. "But Rodolphus left about three hours ago, with both Mulciber and Flint."

"All three of them?"

"Yes. And they looked like they had a package with them," Oscar replied uneasily.

"Package like object or package like body?"

The younger Auror shrugged, squinting in the direction of the house. Although he _hated _reconnaissance missions more than anything else, he had a feeling that this one was about to grow into something else entirely. "I'm not sure. If it was a body, it was awfully limp, but if not, it was a really strangely sized object."

"That's real helpful," Dawlish muttered.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be." The older wizard sighed, fingering his wand. "I wonder if they're _all _gone."

"Alice'll kill us if we get caught," Oscar pointed out, catching Dawlish's meaning immediately. Derek grinned at him.

"She doesn't have to know."

"Right," Oscar snorted, then smiled back. "Then again, I would like to know what the hell is going on in there…"

"So let's do it. Fast in, fast out. The Death Eaters won't ever know, and hopefully we'll get to present Alice with a finished and _successful _product."

"Or with two new Aurors to decorate the Azkaban interior."

"Well, you'll have that sometimes," Derek replied lightly. "Ready?"

"Why not?" Oscar grinned; he knew the risks, but it was high time they did a bit of sneaking around in their nasty neighbors' backyard, as his Mentor would have put it. "Then again, if we're lucky, we'll get to explain this to Frank instead of Alice. He's nicer."

"Only if we're lucky, Oscar. And we never are."

"True. Let's go."

Together, the pair crept up the hill and miraculously, into the Riddle House without being seen, hexed, or otherwise impeded. What they found in the empty manor, however, was not exactly what they expected.

--------------

"Professor Fletcher, what's going on?" Hermione gasped.

"Don't argue, stupid girl. Just get in the Great Hall!" Professor Snape snapped before his colleague could answer, and for once, Professor Fletcher didn't seem to care. Usually, he took exception with the Deputy Headmaster's hatred for all Gryffindors, but not today. The deep lines in his face spoke of greater worries, and of far greater dangers.

Driven by the professors, the students were being pushed into the Great Hall at an alarming rate and with no explanation. The first class of the morning had been upended with an ear-splitting announcement by Professor Snape that told all students to go to the Great Hall _immediately_. Most of the professors had clearly not known why they were ushering their students to the hall, but all had complied. And none had answered questions, no matter who asked them.

In a small bright note, Percy was scowling at Professor Tonks' back, having clearly been told that this was none of his business and to go into the Great Hall like a _good little prefect_. Harry was having a hard time not laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation. He'd heard those exact words come out of Professor Tonks' mouth.

Hermione, however, wasn't giving up. Red in the face, she planted herself firmly in the entrance to the hall, and started to object. "But—"

"Don't be daft, Hermione!" Ron hissed, grabbing her arm. "We've got to—"

"Got to what?" she demanded. "And _why_? What's so frightening that we don't have a right to know what's going on?"

"Miss Granger, this is not a time for arguments!" Fletcher suddenly snapped. "Get into the Hall!"

"But we—"

"C'mon, Hermione!" Without warning, Fred and George grabbed her by the arms and hauled her inside, with the rest of the Misfits hard on their heels. Harry, however, was frozen in his tracks.

Professor Lupin swept by them, exiting the Great Hall with a hurried stride. But the fact that he was leaving wasn't what caught Harry's attention; it was the look on the headmaster's face that made him stare. Remus' face was tight and drawn, and paler than Harry had ever thought it could be. His blue eyes, though, were burning.

As he passed, Snape fell into step behind him without a word, but Remus gestured him back. "Stay with the students," the headmaster said quietly.

For the first time in Harry's life, the greasy Deputy Headmaster looked taken aback. His dark eyes widened, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw fear.

"But I—"

"No, Severus. This one is mine."

And Remus strode away without a further word, leaving both Snape and Harry dumbstruck in his wake.

--------------

Two hours later, Bill stood outside the Labyrinth, waiting for a candidate to finally emerge. This was the first time that Auror Candidate Class 4904 had attempted the ever-changing Labyrinth as individuals and not one of the first seven to enter had managed to exit—currently, all of them were stuck in what the instructors fondly called the basement. None of candidates had even known that the hole existed; when they had negotiated the Labyrinth in teams, no one had fallen in. Now, though, they would stay in the basement until someone made it through, or until all the candidates had failed.

Testing phase or not, there was still plenty left to learn. They had less than ten days until graduation and the assignment of Mentors, and the instructors would push them as hard as possible on each of those days. Bill suppressed a smile. His would likely become a long wait.

"Have a moment, Bill?" Frank Longbottom's question startled the younger instructor, and he jumped and instinctively went for his wand, smiling sheepishly as he turned. Embarrassed, Bill pried his fingers out of his pocket, thinking that perhaps his wait would not be as lonely as he'd anticipated.

"Several, I suspect," he replied dryly, making Frank grin.

"They are doing rather _impressively_ bad, aren't they?" the Senior Candidate Instructor asked.

"I don't think they expected us to play dirty."

"More fools they, then," Frank replied. "Aurors _always _play dirty."

The two wizards exchanged grins at the remark; it was one of the Aurors more unofficial mottos. _Death Eaters play dirty. Aurors wallow in the mud._ But they didn't mention that one in public—the Aurors' private disregard for official policies might have given certain Ministry workers massive coronaries. Especially this far into the war, though it did help that the current Minister was one of their own, and had a _bit _of a reputation for working…outside the rules.

"Yeah, but some of the candidates are still stuck on the 'Stalwart and Upright Defenders of the Light' image," Bill snickered.

Frank snorted. "Stalwart? Sometimes. Defenders? I'll buy that. But upright?—"

"Not often!" they finished together, laughing. Humor, even dark humor, was a rather necessary relief in their line of work.

After a few moments, though, the amusement faded off of Frank's face, replaced by something quieter and more serious. Slowly, he nodded slightly in the direction of a nearby trio of oak trees, and Bill followed his senior to stand in the shadow cast by the trees. On such an overcast day, they didn't particularly need the shade, but the trees were nice to lean on, and Bill could still see the Labyrinth's exit from there. Frank cleared his throat.

"We've got a problem, Bill," he said quietly, leaning back against the largest of the oaks.

"Problem?" Something in the older man's voice made Bill swallow.

Frank nodded. "Two weeks ago, Candidates Tonks and Smeltings were exploring the island. They've apparently done so often, and though it's a gross violation of Candidate Regulations, I think we might have reason to be grateful for their rule breaking."

"Oh?"

"Ms. Tonks came to me yesterday. I think she would have preferred to speak to you, but you and Hestia were still off the island," he continued bluntly. "She told me about her and Mr. Smeltings' explorations, and that thirteen nights ago, they saw an unidentified figure altering the wards."

"The wards?" Bill frowned. "How can they be sure?"

"Smeltings cast a diagnostic spell, and Tonks dissuaded the individual with some fireworks," Frank replied. "Smart girl, that one."

"Look at her cousin," Bill reminded him.

"Right. Anyway, the mystery man—both agreed that the individual was male—entered PriApp before either could act. The doors admitted him, and they assume he left."

"Was there any ward maintenance scheduled for the first or the second?" he asked. "It might explain everything if someone was working late."

"No," Frank said with certainty. "Unlike the old headquarters at the Ministry, these wards can be controlled and maintained by two individuals: myself, as Senior Candidate Instructor, and Sirius, as the head of the Aurors. I know it wasn't me, and Ms. Tonks would have recognized her cousin."

Bill whistled. "So, do we have a traitor in our midst?"

"I don't know." Frank shrugged. "It could be something entirely innocent, someone who got paranoid and decided to simply test the wards before leaving…but I don't know. So, I'd like you to check it out."

"Me?"

"You're our best problem solver, Bill, and I'd like you to keep this quiet. I trust you, but if there's someone out there…" Frank didn't have to finish. They both knew what a traitor on Avalon could mean.

"Consider it done," Bill replied quietly. "I assume that you want me to go at this alone?

"For now. Let me know when you find anything out."

"No problem."

Frank slapped Bill on the shoulder, and moved away from the trees. "Thanks, Bill," he said with a lopsided smile. "I'll leave you to your waiting."

"Oh, that's brilliant of you," Bill grumbled. "You and I both know that I'll be here all night!"

"Nah. Kingsley swears they'll all be done by dinner."

"Lovely! Mighty thoughtful of him, that." They exchanged smiles once more, and then Frank walked away, leaving Bill alone with his thoughts. The distracting banter had been just that, a distraction, and both Aurors realized how important this was. Avalon was their last sanctuary. If it had been breached…

Bill shook the dark 'what ifs' away, but could not forget the truth. If not for two candidates' aptitude for exploration, the Aurors would not have known even this much. As it stood, they _knew _very little, but any lead was a start. Frank had been right in choosing him; Bill enjoyed mysteries, and was good at solving them. Once, he'd even wanted to do so as a career, but that dream had faded when the war raged on, and Bill had chosen to _make a difference_.

He smiled wistfully, supposing that a small corner of his soul would always belong to the little boy who had wanted to be a Gringotts curse breaker…but no more. He had a job to do, and he'd do it. Like so few remaining things in their world, being an Auror _meant _something, and Bill would not let down those who depended upon him.

His eyes watched the dark exit from the Labyrinth as his head whirled over the possibilities, wondering the mystery wizard might be and what his intentions had been. They were lucky that Tonks and Smeltings had spotted him, and somehow, Bill was not surprised at all to see that the first student to emerge from the Labyrinth was Nymphadora Tonks.

--------------

Remus stood alone outside the castle's giant front doors, feeling light rain drizzle down around him. He, however, was oddly dry, and wondered idly if that was the Font's influence. Not a day passed where he did not learn something new about Hogwarts' Font of Power, and he hoped that this would be another of those days. He took a deep breath. He would need the Font today.

Eight years ago, Lord Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts and had been repulsed by Albus Dumbledore. At the time, Remus had wondered how, had not understood the ability of wizard to take on the Dark Lord and all his Death Eaters. Even Albus Dumbledore should not have been able to do so unaided, even at Hogwarts…but before Remus had entered the Font, Dumbledore had explained. The Font could save Hogwarts.

Only the Font could save Hogwarts.

Remus closed his eyes. Although he could see the ant-like figures of Death Eaters and Dementors approaching in the distance, his eyes would only serve as a distraction. He had never been as instinctually brilliant as James or Sirius, but Remus knew that he'd have to operate on a different level of magic today. Words would be as useless as his eyes. Everything would depend upon his connection to the Font, and how long his body would stand the incredible strain of old and deep magic.

He put his wand away. It was time.

--------------

"Hey, Sirius."

The voice mad him look up in surprise; with all the candidates and instructors occupied in the Labyrinth, Sirius had expected to have Lab Six to himself. However, he'd managed to forget that Avalon was no longer as quiet as it had been.

"Adam," he acknowledged, trying not to frown. "What are you doing here?"

The other Auror shrugged. "I was bored. You?"

"Working."

And he _had _been before Adam MacMillan came through the door, but now Sirius could not. It wasn't that he didn't trust Adam—he simply didn't want _anyone _to witness what he was doing. Trust was certainly not an issue; had James Potter walked into Lab Six, Sirius would have hidden this from him, too. Especially James.

_"Dissimulous,"_ he muttered, tapping the work table with his wand. Disillusionment Charms were so useful. Now Adam (and any other unexpected visitors) would see only what they expected to see, which would probably be a typical array of experimental materials. Sirius resisted the urge to snort. _I should have thought of that sooner_.

"You're turning into a workaholic," Adam said playfully, but his smile didn't extend all the way to his eyes.

"If I'm going to beat Voldemort, I need to be," Sirius replied quietly. He wasn't in the mood for jokes, anyway.

"Do you really think you can?" Adam asked. "Defeat the Dark Lord?"

"I know that I have to."

The stark words hung in the air between them, startling even Sirius by their simplicity. Yes, he had known that he'd have to stop Voldemort, had known for some time. However, that wasn't the same as admitting it, and he hadn't before, except to good friends. This was different. Adam was different. Friends he could expect to understand. Others…

"Better you than me, mate," Adam finally said with a shrug, breaking the awkward silence. The forced levity in his voice failed to help matters, though. "So, what's that?"

The item he gestured at was a small leather-bound book which lay open on the table in front of Sirius. It was barely the size of a Muggle paperback novel, but it was much more important. However….Sirius shrugged. "An old book. I was looking up some little-used spells."

"Sounds engrossing," the other said dryly.

"More or less." He forced a smile, feeling something cold trickle down his spine. "Mostly less."

_Mostly dangerous_.

Adam chuckled, unable to hear Sirius' inner thoughts. Then, much to Sirius' disappointment, he wandered halfway around the lab's perimeter towards a clump of chairs. "Mind if I join you?"

"Erm…well, to be honest, yes," Sirius said carefully. "You're slightly distracting."

_And I can't work at _all _with you in here!_ He desperately wanted to order MacMillan to leave, and could, but doing so wouldn't help his relationship with the Aurors one bit. All eight labs were open to all, and if he started playing an autocrat without explaining himself first, some noses were bound to get bent out of shape. The fact that half the Wizarding World hated him because of the brand on his arm was bad enough; if the Aurors stopped trusting him, it would all be for nothing.

"Sorry." Adam smiled apologetically and headed for the exit. "I'll leave you to your work, then."

"Thanks, Adam," Sirius said gratefully. "I wouldn't normally be so rude, it's just hard to concentrate, y'know?"

"Yeah, I do." The Auror paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look of his shoulder. "Just tell me one thing, Sirius. Why does it feel like you're using Dark Magic in here?"

--------------

Remus collapsed straight into Snape's arms when it ended. He hadn't noticed when his Deputy Headmaster approached, and was almost beyond caring. His head spun with exhaustion and power, and he could still feel the Font whispering in his soul—

_Dementors approaching Hogwarts._

Were these memories or the future? The Dementors were _gone_…

_Snape on his knees in front of Voldemort—_

_Sirius twisting away from a curse, with pain on his face—_

_A woman mixing a potion—_he recognized her, but could not remember why—

_Dung Fletcher with tears on his face—_

_Little Hermione Granger, with her wand pointed at someone and fury on her face—_

_Hagrid—_

"Remus!" Snape had to shout in his ear to be heard. In response, Remus tried to shake his head to clear it, but only succeeded in making himself more dizzy. He wouldn't have been standing if Snape hadn't been holding him up. "_Headmaster!_"

The other professors seemed to have come through the doors on Snape's heels, but Remus was almost too lost to tell. He blinked again, feeling so limp, so exhausted.

"Are you all right?"

It was Dung, but there weren't tears on his face. Remus had to squint at him to figure out who he was; his brain was working too slowly. The headmaster blinked again.

"Yeah," he tried to say, but it came out sounding more like "teah."

Poppy Pomfrey knelt at his side, gesturing for Snape to lower him to the ground, which the other wizard did without argument. "Stay still," she ordered needlessly.

Remus didn't even have the energy to nod, but he did have the energy to jump when Fletcher bellowed:

_"Get those students back inside!"_

He didn't bother to turn his head to look, but then again, he didn't have to. Undoubtedly, Harry and the Misfits were among the curious onlookers, along with Malfoy and his Slytherin friends. Out of all the groups of Hogwarts students, those were certainly the most nosy.

"I can't find anything wrong with you," Poppy said with frustration as Fletcher asked,

"What did you _do_?"

Remus shook his head wearily. "Don't ask. It worked…and that's what mattered. Matters."

He knew that he was tired when his grammar got mixed up.

"Are they gone?" Auriga Sinistra asked in a small voice.

"Yes."

The world spun as he spoke, and Remus distantly heard Snape curse, but he couldn't quite figure out what the other man had said before he blacked out. The last thing he remembered thinking was that something hadn't been right about that attack—for all he managed to blunt Voldemort's best efforts to invade the school, something was _lacking_. Something was different.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Starting Monday, I'm underway for three weeks, which means very little writing time. However, I'll do my best to write, and I ought to be able to update at least once or twice while I'm gone, but please excuse the delay. Aside from that, stay tuned for PR34: The Limits of Endurance, and please review!


	33. Chapter 33: The Limits of Endurance

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Three: The Limits of Endurance_

He was pelted with angry owls the next morning, along with upwards of half a dozen Howlers. Most concerned the _necessary _and _immediate _removal of one Professor and Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape, but a few concerned Remus' _carelessness _in allowing Hogwarts to be attacked. That incident was all over the papers, of course, though Rita Skeeter had managed to mangle the facts in her usual manner. Still, the basics of even her article were truthful enough—the school _had _been attacked, and parents were worried.

Those letters he put aside with a little less care than the others; they stung. He had done all he could do, and more—few were those who had faced Lord Voldemort and survived, no matter how indirect the method. Remus did not rejoice at joining the survivors' number, but he was glad that Hogwarts was safe.

In the end, little mattered to him more.

He stood slowly, trying to force a smile. The effort failed, but a flick of his wand sent the stack of irate letters and Howlers sailing into the fire—a much more fitting and safer place for them than any garbage bin. Remus was well aware of what the attack _seemed _to say about Severus, and he was equally prepared to ignore the criticism. Those who mattered knew the truth, and those who didn't, well…they would simply have to deal with the situation as it stood. Severus was far too valuable to Hogwarts, to Remus, to leave because some worried parents thought he had invited Death Eaters to the school.

And yet, things had not been as bad as they could have been. Of that he was sure. Without the Font, he would have failed, would have fallen, even _with _Severus' warning. But the Font had enabled Remus to seal the school against all comers, and he had held. Just as Dumbledore had years before, he had held.

Remus sighed, listening to his own thoughts. He hated being compared to Albus Dumbledore. He hated the parallels being drawn simply because he was Hogwarts' headmaster, and he was now the nominal head of the Order of the Phoenix. No matter what happened, he could not replace the kind and wise old man who had so often guided the Wizarding world through one disaster after another. Remus was not Dumbledore, and though he loved the same things Dumbledore had loved and was willing to fight for them in the same manner, he could never replace the old man. Nor would he wish to.

Walking towards his office's exit, Remus tried to push those thoughts away, and managed to, in part. He would never escape the nagging suspicion that others saw him as Dumbledore's mirrored replacement, but Remus supposed that he ought to be complimented by the comparison. He had admired Albus Dumbledore all of his life, and it was nice to know that he had not yet failed the old man.

Even so, there was work to be done, and Hogwarts' headmaster stepped out of his office and into his school, once again remembering that he was, in the end, just another teacher.

--------------

He'd had to dodge a dozen irate Hogsmeade residents and watched three Howlers explode in his face along the way, but Snape had finally managed to escape. He'd ended up Apparating onto a lonely-looking Muggle street, which he walked along with apparent unconcern, trying to blend in and not attract attention. The last thing he needed was to be seen by _either _side, because what he was doing was just plain foolishness.

But it was also a favor for an old friend, and Severus Snape upheld his obligations. His family's age-old honor demanded that friendship be remembered _no matter what_, and when a friend had asked for help, he had answered. Especially when the trip offered him a much needed chance to escape the increasingly-tense environment that Hogwarts had become. The students were not nearly as hostile as their parents had become, but he had been assaulted by owls, eagles, Howlers, and exploding envelopes since four hours prior to dawn. Severus was tired of it, and felt fully confident that Remus would find a suitable way to dispose of his hate mail.

_Or perhaps Dung will simply hex the letters, and then send them _backhe thought wistfully. It would have been nice to see his obnoxious correspondents get a dose of their own medicine.

Shaking his head, Severus knocked on the old door, noticing belatedly that the old silver serpent was gone, replaced, instead, by a growling lion. _Typical_. He wanted to snort, but did not. Even if the house's owner was not currently in residence, doing so would be bad manners. He knew better. His own mother, rest her soul, would have haunted him forever for that.

The door opened to reveal a pretty red-haired woman whose vitality had not faded as the years passed. The war had aged many of their generation, but not Lily. Lily would always be timeless.

She smiled. "Severus! I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"I apologize for being late," he replied, trying not to return the smile—somehow, Lily _always _made him smile back. "Getting here was…complicated."

"I can imagine," she said quietly, then stepped aside. "Do come in."

"Thank you."

He had not been in the Black family home for decades, certainly not since before he'd joined the war. After his seventh year at Hogwarts, everything had changed, and the old social circle had shattered…a circumstance that's happening he did not very strongly regret. They had been so _proud_, in those days, so much _better _than the rest of the world. Back then, it had been so simple. So straightforward. Pureblooded wizards had the _right _to dominate the others. No one questioned it. No one wondered. No one spoke out.

It took years of torturing and murdering and creating nightmares that he would never forget before the truth had dawned upon Severus, and he'd begun to realize that people like Lily Potter had been right all along. She was one of the most gifted witches in his generation, and she was a Muggleborn. If that hadn't taught him something, nothing would have, but the truth still took years to sink in. Finally, though, two decades after entering Hogwarts, Severus Snape could smile and call a Muggleborn witch a friend—and mean it.

"I've been working on this experiment all morning," Lily explained in her _rational _voice—Severus remembered that Sirius Black used to call it her 'professor' voice when he teased her at Hogwarts. "And I've come to the conclusion that I simply have to be missing something. It ought to be so simple, but without an Invigorating Potion …"

"Your victims simply collapse."

She scowled. "Exactly."

"Honestly, Lily, I'm not sure how much good I can do for you," he replied, shrugging as they descended into the kitchen. "I will certainly brew the potion for you, but I don't think it will help. I think you need something more powerful."

"Like what?"

There was a cauldron of something brewing over the hearth, and Snape paused to sniff the air before answering. The smell was familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint why… "I'm not sure. Killing or neutralizing Dementors is risky, at best."

"I know. It's taken years of study to figure out what we need," Lily said seriously. "Now if we could only figure out how to give one person the energy to _do _it."

"What must be done?" he asked, eyebrows rising. _And what _is _that smell?_

"Love," Lily said quietly. "Bravery and love. You can't kill a Dementor, really, because they aren't alive. But you can cancel one out." She shrugged helplessly. "Or at least you ought to be able to, if you could muster enough strength."

"Hence the potion," Snape murmured thoughtfully. "I begin to understand." He nodded. "It's certainly worth the effort, anyway, even if it does not succeed. I can brew a batch for you within an hour."

Lily's smile was bright. "When is a good time for you?"

"Now," he said bluntly. "I have no classes this morning, and I'd rather not be at Hogwarts to receive my…_letters_."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had no idea it was so…"

Severus shrugged off the apology. "It doesn't matter," he cut her off. "I'm accustomed to the hatred."

Lily swallowed, and he had to speak quickly before she could say something else that was too compassionate for his current mood.

"What _is _that potion, anyway?" Severus demanded, gesturing at the cauldron. The distraction worked, and Lily turned to stare at it.

"Horrible, isn't it?" she asked lightly. "It's James' medicine; we have to heat the potion before he can drink it, and heating charms nullify the effects. James says that doesn't _quite _taste as bad as it smells."

Severus snorted. "Who brewed it?" Foul-smelling potions were simply not the product of a genuine Potions Master. There were always ways to make things smell better.

"Martha Blackwood, the healer in charge of James' care," Lily replied immediately.

"Hm. No wonder why it…" Suddenly, he trailed off, feeling something prickle at the back of his neck.

"What is it?" she asked, and Snape felt his heart pounding. _What if…?_

"Do you have a list of ingredients, Lily?"

--------------

Broad daylight, sitting at the kitchen table. Laughter.

"Louise, I simply think that—"

_Bang._

Louise Agnes Longbottom sat up straight in her chair, her dark eyes flashing warily. Although well over ninety, possessing a horribly bad back, and looking the part, she was one of the sharpest witches Alice had ever met. "What was that?"

"I don't—"

_Crack. _More felt than heard. More magical than physical.

Giggling. "They're coming to take you away! They're coming to take you away!"

"Shut up!" Alice growled, just as Louise demanded:

"Who?"

"Servants of the Dark one! Bringers or murder and mayhem!" The half-made giggle cut off abruptly. "Destroyers of all I held dear…"

Dead silence. Alice stared.

The ghost that Frank had irritatingly named Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here shot straight upwards, disappearing through an antique chandelier and into the ceiling. But his voice lingered:

"Go, go, go, before they come! Run fast!"

Louise blinked. "What in the—"

"No time." Alice rocketed to her feet, grabbing the older woman's arm. "Let's go."

"Apparation—"

"No good. They have wards up." Half guiding and half dragging Louise with her left hand, Alice stretched her right hand out in an Auror's instinctive gesture. Immediately, her wand flew into her waiting fingers, the cool yew warming against her palm. Louise, too, had her wand out—she might have been old, but no mother of Frank Longbottom would ever go senile.

Quickly, they pounded through the kitchen and into the front hall, skidding around corners and aiming for the shortest route of escape. Alice could hear Louise's harsh breathing on her heels, but there was no time for worry. She'd released her mother-in-law's arm during their mad dash, but Louise was keeping up. She had to. They had not the seconds to spare for human frailty. However, their speed almost turned out to be as curse as a blessing. The pair had just come around the final bend, with the front doors in sight, when a transparent figure reared up out of the floor below the two witches.

"Not this way," Mister-I-Refuse-to-Tell-the-Longbottoms-My-Name-Because-I-Died-In-This-House-Before-the-Longbottoms-Got-Here told them, speeding towards the mahogany doors before either could object.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that ghost is trying to help us," Louise remarked.

Alice bit her lip. "I think he is."

--------------

Broad daylight, sitting at the kitchen table. Silence.

Three lifeless bodies stared blankly into a distance they would never see again. Three sets of matching brown eyes were glazed over and sunken into slack faces, never to clear again. Someone had obviously taken care in arranging the bodies after death: the little girl sat primly between her parents, her back straight and twin braids curling around her shoulders. The woman's platinum blonde hair was perfectly arranged, and her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Not a silver hair fell out of place on the husband's head, either, and his robes were immaculate, recently and neatly pressed.

Had it not been for the terror on their dead faces, the family might have been an image out of a Muggle painting, frozen in time at that kitchen table.

The table was dark cherry, with a red tint to it. The scrollwork adorning the legs and top was exquisite, marking the piece as a product of Colender's, the makers of the Wizarding world's finest furniture. The table was also exquisitely expensive, but that did not matter. Money was not an object. The family was well off.

Had been.

The table was beautiful, and everything would have looked perfect in a Muggle painting of the scene. Except for one thing—that dark shade of cherry was not meant to have such a red tint. The dark colors swirled and mixed with maroon, blending together almost perfectly. Almost.

There were words on the table.

_This is what happens to those who resist._

--------------

Screams echoed from the front hall as Alice and Louise rushed for the back stairs. They could hear the ghost taunting the intruders, screaming the same obscenities at the Death Eaters that he'd been hurling at the Longbottoms for years. Now, though, Alice did not mind. The sounds were welcome, because it meant that Voldemort's followers would be delayed just that one moment longer, and as she'd learned early on in Auror training, every moment counted.

But Louise was tiring, and that counted, too.

For once, she wished that her husband's family had not inherited a house as ancient and _large _as Glen Ridge. Had the house been any smaller and any less old, the trip from the front hall to the back exit would not have been so long or convoluted. Old houses, however (especially Wizarding houses), tended to be that way, and Louise's breathing was coming heavily at her back. They didn't have much time.

Frank's mother wheezed and almost collapsed, stumbling into Alice. The Auror barely managed to catch her balance and made a desperate grab for her mother-in-law, supporting Louise during precious moments that they did not have to waste. The old woman slumped against her momentarily, and then quickly straightened, as if refusing to feel her own weakness. Louise started to speak, but never got the chance.

_Crack_.

Again, the sound was not so much heard as it was _felt._ It was magical, and the signified that the wards were collapsing around them. For a split second, Alice felt the presence of sheer power, and wondered who it might be—but she knew. There was only one possibility, and she was suddenly very grateful that Neville and Frank were safe.

There were Death Eaters outside the back door, working their way in. She knew that without casting a diagnostic spell, just like she knew she was going to die.

"Run, Alice," Louise wheezed.

_"What?"_ she demanded, spinning around to face the older witch.

"Go. You can make it alone." Frank's mother smiled Frank's sad smile. "I'm only holding you back."

"No," Alice stated flatly. "I'm getting you out of here."

"No you're not," was the surprisingly gentle reply. "I can hold them back, but I cannot run. I am too old."

"Not that old—" she tried.

Louise smiled knowingly. "Too old." She pushed Alice away. "Now go, Alice. Take the tunnel."

"But—" The old tunnel had occurred to Alice as an escape route the moment the attack had started, but she'd immediately discarded the notion. Not only was the tunnel's entrance all the way up on the third floor—physics in a Wizarding home simply didn't function in a normal manner—but the underground passageway was narrow and difficult to travel during the best of times. If Death Eaters caught up with someone in there…

"Go." The old woman turned, lifting her wand. She spared one last glance over her shoulder. "Quickly."

The stairs were only feet away, but still Alice hesitated. She'd spent her career protecting the innocent, dedicated her life to defending people like Louise Longbottom. _If I cannot protect my family, who _can _I protect? _Alice wanted to scream. She could not simply _run _while someone else defended her—but the understanding look in the old woman's eyes stopped her next objection.

"Go, Alice. Frank and Neville need you…and so does the world. Our world needs _you _far more than it needs a tired old woman."

"Louise…" she whispered, pleading.

Death Eaters came around the corner, no more than thirty feet up the hallway. Both witches jumped, but it was Louise who spun quicker, aiming her want at the intruders and firing off curses.

"Go, Alice!"

Louise bolted towards the enemy, leaving her daughter-in-law to stare at her back. _Her bad back_, Alice thought numbly. _The one she always joked would kill her someday._ A Death Eater's howl of pain snapped her back into the present, and even as she started to smile, Louise staggered. Green light flashed, then missed, and then again—

Alice ran. Hating every step she took, she pounded up the stairs, taking three and four steps at a time. Hot tears blurred her vision, and every instinct Alice possessed screamed at her to go back and fight. She was an _Auror_, for Merlin's sake—fighting Death Eaters was what she _did._ But she could not. Alice had seen the slender figure amongst the enemy. She had seen his glowing red eyes. More importantly, though, she knew what that meant. With Voldemort there, they should have both died.

_If not for Louise_. Fighting back tears as she ran, alice vowed to honor that sacrifice.

--------------

Their screams had echoed through the night, but those who had slain them did not care. This message was meant for another.

The Clearwaters had died to prove a point.

--------------

"This isn't right."

He was bent over the cauldron, leaning so close to the potion that his nose almost touched the surface. A few oily hairs hung around his face, but none, amazingly enough, escaped the _ponytail_ Severus had put them in. Lily had only once before seen Snape so occupied with a potion that he tied his hair back, and that had been during the Potions N.E.W.T. in their seventh year. He'd gotten a perfect score on that test, a feat unheard of during the history of N.E.W.T. exams.

Lily only hoped that perfection would be equaled today.

"It's subtle," he continued. "Skillfully so….but not subtle enough."

"What is it?" Lily finally asked, unable to hold her impatience back any longer. This was the first time Severus had spoken in oven an hour; before he'd been studying the potion in absolute silence, casting light spells and then studying it more.

"Dark Magic at its finest," he murmured.

_"What?"_

"Oh, yes." Severus finally looked up at her, pulling his face away from the cauldron. His smile was almost as cold as his eyes, though it was lifeless, unlike the burning black orbs. Then abruptly, Severus shrugged, and the frozen look disappeared. He glanced back down at the cauldron, absently stirring the mixture with his wand. "What exactly did Blackwood tell you this was _for_?"

"A combination painkiller, muscle rejuvenator, and bone re-grower," Lily recited mechanically, still trying to register his words. _Dark Magic?_

He snorted. "It's a combination, all right."

"Of what?" she asked warily, feeling her heart leap solidly into her chest. _Tell me it's not…_

"Oh, this potion haseverything she mentioned _in _it," the Potions Master replied. "Just not _actively_."

"What does that mean?" Lily was almost afraid to ask, almost afraid to wonder.

Snape looked up again, and this time he actually smiled. "Let's go see James."

On September 16, 1992, the _Daily Prophet _headline read: **THE DEATH TOLL MOUNTS: David, Clarissa, and Marie Clearwater murdered in their home; Louise Longbottom slain by Death Eaters.** The front page's picture showed the Dark Mark glowing green in the sky over a blue and white two-story house…and an identical mark over an imposing stone structure known to the Wizarding World as Glen Ridge.

Next to it was a dark picture of Hogwarts in the rain. **HOGWARTS HEADMASTER REFUSES TO SACK DEATH EATER.**

Seven small words though those were, they caused far more of a sensation than the news of further Death Eater attacks could. By now, the Wizarding World had almost become numb to death and destruction—but Hogwarts, _Hogwarts_, had long been a bastion of light and of hope. It was a symbol, and even those without children felt that the school had been tainted. Dumbledore, they whispered, had kept Hogwarts safe. But now a Death Eater freely roamed the ancient school's halls, and nothing was the same.

The media fueled the fire, students became afraid, and parents who had never cared about the war began to take sides.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Again, I apologize for the delay. We've been underway conducing testing that leads up to the ship's final evaluation, so it's been very busy. The good news is that I've plotted out the next ten or so chapters, and have come to the conclusion that I've long been afraid I'd have to. I've known it for quite awhile, though, even if I just now admitted it to myself. _Promises Remembered _may very well be too long for one story.

So, tentatively: **_Promises Defended_**—Boyish oaths have the power to move the world, and one choice changed everything. Yet Sirius Black's decision to remain the Potters' Secret Keeper was not without risk, and now four friends are all that stands between their world and darkness.

Please let me know what you think in a review. Sequel: yes or no?


	34. Chapter 34: Hope and Ashes

Author's Note: This is the sequel to _Promises Unbroken_. If you have not all ready read PU, I highly suggest doing so, else this story will probably make no sense whatsoever. Be advised that this is an Alternate Universe tale as well. That said, enjoy the story—and let the darkness come.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of _Harry Potter _belong to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling, whom I thank very much for the loan of her playground. The plot, however, and anything you do not recognize, belongs to me. I am not making any profit from the writing and display of this story, except for gratification of my ego and quenching my thirst to write.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Four: Hope and Ashes_

Frank turned away from the fire, swallowing. In the privacy of his quarters (the only rooms on Avalon, save the Old Suite, which possessed an unregulated fireplace), he could allow himself such open reactions. Elsewhere, he could not, and Frank knew that the mask of responsibility would have to slip back into place very soon. He had yet another sad tale to tell, and as accustomed to such duties as he was, Frank would never grow to accept them. Nor did experience ever lessen the pain of telling families that they had lost their loved ones.

Usually, he was breaking the news of an Auror's death to a bereaved family. This time, however, was different—and harder—because it was an example of _their _failure, of the _Aurors_' shortcomings. Of course, after so many years in the field, Frank knew that failures happened. Even the Aurors could not protect everyone…but Frank also knew that they had to try.

And fail, in this case. Fail bitterly.

He rose and walked around the desk, shoving hair out of his eyes. Alice was still reminding him that he really needed to get it cut, but there was no time. Besides, he had a hard time caring about his hair, a hard time concentrating on much of anything. Sirius had tried to give both Longbottoms time off to mourn, but husband and wife had each refused. Alice had grimly stated that her grief would only be cured by vengeance, while Frank had a bleaker outlook. He just wanted to bury himself in work, even though he knew it wouldn't work. He knew that from experience—everyone remembered that Edgar Bones had been the first Auror to fall to Lord Voldemort. Few recalled that Edward Longbottom had been the second. Frank had been fifteen, and his brother's death had driven him into the Aurors.

His mother's death, however, was far worse, and after Alice had arrived on Avalon, Frank had wanted to break down. He had always known that his mother would not die a tame death, and yet…he hadn't expected it now. Not like this. And the night before, he'd had a hundred nightmares about how it could have been Alice, too. He could have lost them both…

Frank slammed his office door, shaking himself out of the darkness. _Not here. Not now. _He could not afford to lose himself in the grief. There was too much work to be done and too much vengeance to be had. That thought brought sudden coldness, and Frank blinked. _I'm not the only one who's going to want revenge, _he realized. _Not the only one by far._

The walk to the Student Quarters was short, especially for an instructor. As Frank had found out years before, tunnels crisscrossed the island, leading almost everywhere from the Main Villa out. He'd never quite understood their origin, but he was sure that they predated the Aurors from the construction and the artwork on some of the walls. The tunnel he slipped through was one of the decorated ones, with beautiful engravings of Muggle battles on one side, and a far off view of an island on the other. He was fairly sure that the island pictured was Avalon itself as seen from the sea, but Frank had no way to be sure. No Auror in living memory had approached the isle in a boat, which meant none of them really _knew _what the island looked like, a security precaution he was grateful for. Furthermore, mists obscured the engraved island, which made it even harder to identify but added to the aesthetic view.

Oddly enough, as beautiful as the artwork in the tunnels was, none of the paintings (and there were many of them) ever moved. They were almost like Muggle paintings, yet so much more alive, despite being frozen in time. Having grown up in Glen Ridge with over a hundred classically magical paintings, Frank found the stillness unsettling, and the silence even more so. Yet it _was _beautiful in an old and strange sort of way.

The tunnel ended at a plaster door, which swung open to admit him near the end of Class 4904's hallway. Avalon was capable of supporting up to five classes at one time; the five long corridors in the Student Quarters had a door for each candidate section's quarters. Sometimes, a class might have as many as ten sections, but those days were long past, and the Aurors simply could not have trained that many even if they'd had the volunteers. At the moment, though, numbers were not Frank's mission.

He strode halfway down the hall and stopped in front of an unnumbered door, knocking without hesitation. No rooms on Avalon were numbered, though some did have names—Section 4 of 4904 had no idea that their common area and rooms had always been called the Bull Rooms, and Frank had no idea why the name existed at all. Still, stranger things happened on Avalon.

The door opened quickly, revealing young Cornelia Crouch. Restrained surprise flashed across her face at the presence of her class's senior instructor, yet she handled herself well.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked quickly.

"Yes. Is Candidate Clearwater here?" Frank asked quietly, grateful, for once, that candidates on Avalon did not receive newspapers or other sources of public information. Aurors deserved to hear bad tidings from other Aurors—not from Rita Skeeter.

"I believe he's studying. Would you like to come in?"

Frank nodded mutely as Crouch stepped aside, admitting him to the spacious common room. Crouch closed the door behind Frank quietly, and he must have been showing more emotion than he preferred to, because her face turned carefully blank as she skillfully concealed her sudden worry.

"I'll go get him," she said quietly.

"Thank you."

Across the room, Nymphadora Tonks looked up, reading her comrade's face and biting her lip. She _was _a smart girl, despite her clumsiness—if not for that, Frank knew that young Tonks would be at the top of this class instead of the young wizard Crouch was off to fetch. Outwardly, Tonks seemed to lack the maturity that her fellows possessed, but Frank suspected that there was steel beneath the nonchalant exterior. She was also perceptive enough to step into a side room, summoning the others in her candidate section. Clearwater would need them, Frank knew, and he was glad that Tonks had seen that.

Moments later, Crouch returned, with a confused Clearwater on her heels. The others lurked in the corner Tonks had occupied moments before, pretending to be interested in the book she had open, but Lockhart kept shooting worried glances in Clearwater's direction, and Frank knew they weren't fooled.

"Is there something wrong?" Clearwater asked immediately, looking more mystified than nervous. Frank took a deep breath.

"Sit down, Jason." He spoke quietly, using the younger man's name for the first time. Usually, he was obsessively formal in his relationships with the candidates, but Class 4904 would graduate in a week, and this was not a moment to draw lines between candidates and instructors. Aurors were Aurors.

Slowly, Frank lowered himself onto the couch across from Clearwater's chosen chair. "I don't know an easy way to say this," he told the wide-eyed boy, "so I just will."

Crouch's eyes widened, and the senior instructor saw her step closer to Clearwater's back. Frank took a final deep breath.

"Your family died last night, Jason," he said gently. "They were attacked by Death Eaters and tortured."

Aurors did not lie to one other, but Frank almost wished he had. Clearwater's face went stark white, and for a moment, the older Auror thought that he might burst into tears. Crouch's hands landed on his shoulders as the others approached, and Clearwater took a shuddering breath. His voice was a ragged whisper. "What else do we know?"

"Not much," Frank admitted. "There was a message, on the table…" Clearwater _didn't _yet need to know that the message had been carved into the blood-soaked wood. "…It said 'this is what happens to those who resist.'"

"What?" Crouch demanded, even as Clearwater stumbled over the answer.

"But they weren't invol…" he trailed off, his voice breaking. Brown eyes widened, and he gulped. "You think it was directed at me?"

"Yes." Frank swallowed, too. "I'm sorry, Jason. We never thought that they'd target candidates' families...."

He stopped, knowing that Clearwater wasn't listening, wasn't caring. Frank wished he could say that he knew how Jason felt, but he knew that, no matter how true the words were, they would be meaningless. He was not a friend, not family. He could bring news, but his words would offer little comfort. Doing that would be a job for Jason's friends.

"When you're ready, you may use the fire to call your sister," Frank said gently. "Talk however long you like. You're excused from today's training."

"Thank you." The response was hollow, but at least it was a response. Frank thought of saying more, but instead he nodded, noticing that the others were already closing in to help. Slowly, the instructor rose, meeting Tonks' eyes as he did so. She nodded back solemnly, and he left.

--------------

"This might work," Snape said quietly, then shrugged. "But I can make no promises."

James, sitting in an overstuffed armchair, nodded. His wheelchair was tucked unobtrusively in the corner behind him, hopefully never to be used again. "I understand." He swirled the potion around in the silver goblet, clearly playing with it to buy time. "But I thank you anyway. For trying."

"Thank me when you can feel your legs again," Severus replied gruffly. "Otherwise, I'll get back to work."

It had taken him four days of brewing potions, during which he slept little and paid attention to his students even less. But he was finished, now, and it was worth finding out. They would probably never be friends, he and James Potter, but the two _had_ learned to respect one another over the years, which was a far cry from the humiliation and hatred of their Hogwarts days. True, both had been guilty of many things back then—but the past was the past, and the two wizards had moved on enough that Severus' words were very sincere. If nothing else, their world _needed _men like James Potter, and that was enough.

"Should I drink it now?" James asked tightly, obviously wishing he could hide the anxiety he felt. Lily sensed it, though, and squeezed his free hand. Snape nodded, trying not to smile. Their situation was really no laughing matter, but James and Lily's relationship was. Had there ever been a _less _likely marriage, it was that one, but even he could not argue that it had failed. Severus had rarely seen a pair who were so close or so well fitted for one another…he only hoped that someday, somehow, he might find something similar of his own. Still, the fact that they hadn't killed each other yet never ceased to amaze him.

"The potion is ready," he replied, and James began to drink. Surprise crossed his face almost immediately; obviously he'd been expecting Severus' potion to taste as foul as Blackwood's had, but perfection was a matter of professional pride for Severus Snape, and nauseating potions were _not_ perfect. Few potions required a foul taste, and this was simply not one of them.

Severus tried not to smirk, and managed to kill the expression until it toned down to something approaching a sneer. Lily, however, was watching her husband gravely, and the worry on her face sobered the Potions Master immediately. Too much depended upon this moment to laugh.

James polished off the potion and set the goblet down, his left hand still held in Lily's right. For some reason, Severus found himself unable to watch Lily's face; instead, he focused on James' wary features and waited. His old enemy seemed to be holding his breath, waiting, hoping, and wondering, until finally Snape could stand the silence no longer. "Breathe, James," he said. "Lack of oxygen is likely to make the potion _less _effective, not more."

"Oh." James' face went beet red, and even Lily giggled in a short explosion of pent-up tension. With others, Snape's sarcasm might have been misunderstood, but these two had known him for too long. They understood that it was reflex, and neither took his caustic tone personally. The Minister of Magic glanced up at him. "Right."

He could see the question on James' face, the one he would not ask. "You want to know how long it will be before you know," the Potions Master stated.

James nodded mutely, and Snape thought he saw Lily bite her lip.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, shrugging. "I had to mix several formulas in order to nullify the effects of her…_concoction_. My work lacks precedents, so there is no way to know exactly how long it will take.

"However, I estimate ten minutes," he concluded just as James started to frown. "Maybe less."

"That short?" the other wizard asked breathlessly.

"I hope so," Severus breathed, and the others nodded. There was nothing to do _but _hope…except waiting. Out of the three of them, Snape was possibly the most patient; however, he hated idleness. He hated simply _waiting, _waiting without knowing what was to come. A wise man might have once said that the sum of human wisdom was contained in the simple words of "wait and hope," but at the moment, Severus found that fact to be a distinctive pain in the posterior.

--------------

"We missed you at breakfast," the unexpected voice said from behind him, making Sirius turn around. He had abandoned his five day stint in Lab Six, heading out across the island early that morning and wandering wherever his feet took him. Sirius had ended up just north of Avalon's Dueling Areas, where he had promptly seated himself on the grass and tried to answer all the questions he had been asking himself. However, when that quest had proven futile, Sirius had found himself wandering towards the Labyrinth, which he now stared at blankly, wondering what good it might do him.

Or he had been staring at it, anyway, until Bill Weasley walked up.

"Oh?" Sirius responded, trying to sound noncommittal.

The answering smile was almost innocent in its mixture of apology and cynicism. "Well, we've missed you for the past week, actually," Bill replied.

"I went to breakfast on Tuesday," Sirius objected, smiling despite himself.

"Yes. On Tuesday." Bill snorted. "Need I remind you that today is Sunday, which comes five mornings after Tuesday?"

"Or two before, depending upon your point of view."

Bill rolled his eyes, but there was a smile lurking behind his sarcastic exterior. "Oh, please don't start with that 'certain point of view' trash. It's been done already."

"Come again?"

"Never mind," the other Auror chucked suddenly. "The quote is from a Muggle motion picture that an old girlfriend of mine was hung up on."

"_Star Wars_?" Sirius asked curiously.

"You've seen it?"

"'Course I have. Lily made James take her to the first one, then he turned around and dragged us."

Bill laughed. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"What, James liking a story that involves light swords and flying things?" Sirius grinned.

"I was thinking more of you and flying vehicles," the other replied pointedly, but Sirius only chuckled. He'd set out to be alone that morning, but he was discovering that company wasn't such an awful thing. _Or, _he amended mentally, _this company. If Adam wanders up, I'm Apparating off this damn island and hunting down Voldemort, risks be damned. That's definitely safer than listening to his twenty questions!_

It was strange how he'd managed to form a friendship with Bill Weasley; on the surface, the two of them couldn't have been much more different. Though both were the product of old pureblood families, Sirius was a born rebel (traitor was the word his mother had used, but rebel sounded much more romantic) while Bill took pride in his family name and strived to make his parents proud. He'd been a brilliant achiever at Hogwarts, and had even left Gryffindor's Quidditch team in order to concentrate on his grades and on being Head Boy. Sirius, on the other hand, had been the type of rogue even Albus Dumbledore would not make a prefect, and had made even James' reckless streak look tame. He had done almost everything Bill would never even _contemplate _risking, and had earned the detentions to prove it. Meanwhile, Bill had been one of Hogwarts' best in nearly every category. Upon graduation, the oldest Weasley had gained easy admittance to the Aurors, having earned a position that Sirius had to fight to get.

However, that was the past, and both men had made choices since then. Important choices.

Those choices had made them similar, but more importantly, they had made Sirius Black and Bill Weasley _friends_. Even if their mutual dedication to the Aurors had not, their time in Azkaban would have bound them in some way, no matter how small. Yet their understanding was not the same as the one Sirius shared with Dung Fletcher, Adam MacMillan, Jessica Avery, or even Frank Longbottom—similar reckless streaks and a shared hard-edged Mentor had done that. Deep down, the two were much more alike than met the eye, and the past few months had made Sirius realize that.

His chuckle faded into a slight smile. It was good to be understood, no matter how small the ways.

"Speaking of _you_," Bill said in the silence, "we missed you at breakfast."

"You said that already," Sirius replied evasively.

The younger man snorted. "I know I did. And you changed the subject."

"Oops." Sirius didn't bother to sound innocent; doing so would not have worked, anyway. "I wasn't hungry."

"Since Tuesday?" Bill asked dubiously. "You haven't come to any meals."

"I've eaten." He shrugged.

"I don't doubt that. But not with company." Bill paused, and then continued after taking a deep breath. "Adam thinks you're hiding something, Sirius. He's mentioned it several times."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We brushed it off the first few, but he's getting more persistent. What worries him most, I think, is that no one seems to know. Even Frank."

"Yet Frank isn't talking to me," Sirius replied, arching an eyebrow. "Why you? Did you draw the short straw?"

Bill scowled. "No. No one asked me to." His face darkened slightly, and he hesitated before adding "I just figured that, well…"

"That what?" Sirius asked, unable to keep the coldness out of his voice. _What has Adam said?_ Bill had become a friend, yes, but _did _he understand? There was something lurking behind his words, something mistrustful and worried.

"Never mind." Until the defensive response, Sirius hadn't realized how hard his tone had become. Bill fell back a half step, then shrugged. "I guess it isn't important."

That did it. Immediately, Sirius knew that whatever Adam had passed along, it _hadn't _been the whole truth. Five days before, when Adam had stumbled upon Sirius working Dark Magic, the senior Auror had written off the sensation by explaining that he was using _old _magic, which was easy to confuse with the darker variety because distinctive lines had not existed between dark and light magic in the past. At the time, Sirius had thought that Adam accepted his explanation—the other Auror had seemed very relieved, and had left shortly afterwards. Now, though, he was not so sure. Alarms were starting to ring in Sirius' ears. _What _is _he playing at?_

"No." The single word stopped Bill in his tracks just as he was about to turn away. "Ask your question."

Bill swallowed, but his voice was low and earnest. "Look, Sirius," he said quickly, "I trust you. I know that whatever you're doing, you're doing it for a reason, but others here aren't so sure. For days, Adam had been hinting that you were up to something, but today he 'let slip' that you were working Dark Magic."

A far off bird chirped in the sudden silence.

Coldness washed over Sirius, and he fought the urge to gulp. He'd been wrong about Adam—what else was he wrong about? Avoiding the others had seemed like a good idea; their presence was a distraction, at best, while he worked with spells that he was hard pressed to understand. But had avoiding them given Adam time to spread discontent? Had it made him seem guilty? He tried not to snort. _I am guilty._

Sirius had been exposed to Dark Magic for almost his entire life, though its use hadn't always been labeled that way. He understood it, and recognized it easily, but had never _used _it. Doing so, he had learned, made him feel dirty. Unfortunately, so did lying to those who trusted him, and both had become necessities.

"Are you, Sirius?" Bill asked quietly, jerking him out of his reverie.

This time, he did have to swallow. "What would you say if I said yes?" he temporized, knowing that doing so was a good as an affirmation, but he could not stand to admit it.

"I would hope that you'd trust us not to come to conclusions, and to understand that you're acting for a reason," the other replied without hesitation.

"You would. What of the others?" Asking was a sign of weakness, but he had to.

"All of us," Bill said levelly.

Sirius snorted. "And Adam, then?"

"Adam is…different now," Bill sighed. "Azkaban changed him. He's more paranoid than he used to be."

"I've noticed," Sirius replied dryly.

"You didn't answer my question," Bill prodded him gently, and Sirius shrugged.

"I think you know the answer," he breathed.

"You're trying to stop him, aren't you? You're going to use Dark Magic against him."

"No. And yes." Taking a deep breath, Sirius lifted his left arm. He didn't have to pull his sleeve back; they both knew what was there. "This gives me a connection to him, Bill. It changes who I am and how I do magic."

"But you've had it for four years."

"I know." Breathe in. Breathe out. He almost expected to hear the cold and mocking voice echoing in his mind, but there was nothing except emptiness. Odd, how emptiness could be almost as disturbing as the tainted feel of the Mark, especially with this coldness engulfing his soul. "And it has changed me."

There weren't words to explain how, or a way to describe his choice. _My choice.__ My consequences._ _My business._ Bill need not know what drove Sirius to use Dark Magic. Only one other person did, and oddly enough, Voldemort was probably the _only _man who would ever understand why Sirius had chosen that road. He shuddered.

"Are you alright?"

Sirius blinked. "I'm fine. I was just thinking." _Thinking about how well and how little Voldemort knows me. Both, however, are frightening…and there were moments in Azkaban that I think confused him as much as they confused me._

__"Oh." There was another moment of silence, and then Bill tried to smile. "While you're thinking, we have another problem. Aside from Adam."

"Is there?" Sirius turned his head, looking in Bill's eyes and seeing worry there, not doubt. Bill _trusted _him—and that scared Sirius more than doubt ever could. But there was no time for uncertainty, no time for hesitation. Something was prickling at the edge of his mind, but he could not yet tell what. "Thank you, Bill," he added before the other could continue. "For the warning. I'll talk to Adam."

"No problem," Bill replied, before frowning. "The other problem, I fear, is more complicated. We may have a traitor in our midst."

"_What_?"

Bill's answering nod was grim. "Yes. The other night, Ms. Tonks saw—"

"On Avalon?" Sirius demanded, cutting him off.

"On Avalon," the other confirmed. "Frank asked me not to tell anyone, but I'm sure he didn't mean you."

"Ah." He'd been too caught up in his own work to see it, but Sirius' mind was whirling now. Ever so slowly, the pieces were starting to come together… "Tell me what happened."

--------------

"D'you think that Percy has been acting odd lately?" Ron asked his brothers over breakfast in the Great Hall that Sunday morning.

"Eurp," Fred replied through his orange juice. He swallowed messily. "Err, yes."

The Misfits snickered together, and then Harry added, "You drooled on yourself, Fred."

"What—ack!" W hat he hadn't noticed was the juice decorating the front of his school robes. Then Fred scowled. "What was that cleaning charm again?"

Hermione stretched her wand out without bothering to explain. "_Scourgify_."

"Thanks, Hermione. I never can remember that one."

"You might if you spent more time studying than creating pranks," she replied lightly.

"You're one to talk!" George snorted. "Look what _you _got us into last night."

"No, _I _was the one who got us _out _of what Ginny got us into," Hermione retorted. "If you're going to make fun of someone, George, at least get your facts straight."

"Girls. You're all the same."

"At least we _girls _have noticed why Percy is acting funny," Ginny shot back.

Ron's head snapped around. "Why?"

"Why do you care?" George wondered, stuffing breakfast into his mouth at an alarming pace. Even after sitting with him for over a year, Harry was still amazed at the amount of food George could inhale—rate of food consumption was an excellent way to tell the twins apart, especially at meals. While Fred almost always managed to spill something on _someone_, George simply seemed to Disapparate food straight into his stomach.

"I'm curious, that's all," Ron retorted. "Aren't you?"

"Curious about what dear perfect brother Percy is doing with his perfect Prefect friends?" George echoed.

"Oh, come off it, George," Harry broke in. "Let's hear why."

Ginny grinned as George scowled. "Fine then," the fast-eating twin groused. "Get it over with."

"He hasn't been with his friends, anyway," Hermione pointed out. "He's been walking around with Penelope Clearwater for _days_."

"Clearwater?" Fred repeated. "The Ravenclaw girl whose family died?"

Ginny nodded. "I saw her crying on his shoulder on Wednesday morning. After the article came out."

"Crying? With _Percy_?" Ron demanded. "He's about as compassionate as a manticore!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, then glanced Ginny's way. "Aren't boys daft?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry replied dryly, just as Ron asked,

"Why are we so daft?"

The girls burst out laughing, but Fred snorted. "And what do you know that we don't?"

"They're dating, you idiot," Ginny giggled. "That's why he's been acting so funny." She sobered quickly. "Because he's trying to help her."

"Oh." The good mood faded with those words, and the Misfits exchanged glances. First Lee was gone, then Penelope's family was killed, and now Neville's grandmother… There were moments when Harry wondered if the war would ever end—and if it did, who would be alive to see it? How many more of them would end up like Lee, locked up in _Azkaban _and without hope?

Harry swallowed. Professor Fletcher had promised that they were doing all they could, but Harry knew how hard it was to break into Azkaban. The Aurors had done so once, but Voldemort would simply be _waiting _for them to try a second time. Also, Harry had grown up as the son of an Auror. He knew that, as cold as it sounded, that one boy, no matter how important he was to his friends, would not be enough reason to mount a rescue mission. It was a horrible outlook, but the world wasn't perfect…and Harry had a bad feeling that one of his best friends had just become a casualty of war.

By the looks on the others' faces, he could see that they were thinking the same thing, and not one of them liked it. Something had to be done, he knew. But what?

--------------

"Something should have happened by now," Lily said quietly, hating to sound so dejected but unable to stop herself. Fifteen minutes had passed, then another fifteen, until almost an hour later, Snape's potion had no effect. James was still sitting in the armchair, trying to appear unconcerned, but Lily could see the worry in his eyes.

Severus sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "There should have been some effect by now…" He turned to James. "Can you feel anything? Anything at all?"

"Not any more than I could yesterday," James replied quietly. "Ever since I stopped taking Martha's potion, I've felt a bit of a twinge here and there, but not anything _solid._"

"Hm." Severus frowned, and Lily could see him calculating silently. "The only reason I can think of is that you might have an accumulation of the poison in your system, or that your original injury might have been bad enough to cause this. Still…cases of permanent paralysis are very rare. I cannot be sure without access to your St. Mungo's records, but I doubt this is one of them. Perhaps another St. Mungo's healer…?"

"No," James replied firmly, making Lily frown. She'd tried broaching this subject with her husband the night before, and had been shot down just as quickly. They'd argued for hours, but his answer had still been the same. No healers. He did not trust them. For any further work, he would turn to Snape or Madam Pomfrey, period.

"I am far from an expert in the healing field," he pointed out.

"But you are an expert on potions," James countered, "and you said yourself that this is probably caused by Martha's potion. Poison."

"Probably," Severus stressed.

"I know. But I trust you," James replied. "And the so-called experts from St. Mungo's aren't exactly inspiring me with confidence lately."

It was odd to hear how James now trusted the man he had once hated so much, and that Snape would now try so hard to help him. Back when they had been bitter enemies, Lily could never have imagined this conversation taking place, could never have thought that the two could look each other in the eyes and see not only allies, but friends. They had all changed since childhood; somehow, the world had come full circle. Perhaps it was an indication that the bonds forged by friendship could always be stronger than hatred, than evil. Perhaps it meant that all was not lost.

"I'll keep trying," Snape said thoughtfully, absently twirling his wand between two fingers. "There are other options. It's simply a question of finding which one works."

_Or of finding Martha Blackwood and hexing the answers out of her_, Lily thought darkly, almost wishing that they could. Unfortunately, James' _healer _had completely disappeared; the moment Lily had contacted St. Mungo's in search of her, she had been told that Healer Blackwood was on indefinite leave of absence due to a death in the family. Snape, however, had been practical enough to point out that Martha's only family member was her older brother, Osborne, and he was definitely still alive. Like Severus (and James, for that matter), Osborne was the senior member of one of the Fourteen, which meant Snape would have heard of his death. The fact that Martha had lied, however, revealed nothing. She was still gone, and without her knowledge, there was no easy way to counter her work.

So James was stuck. Still. Lily could see the pain on his face, could see him struggling to face the situation optimistically. Thinking that he had been hurt had been bad enough; knowing he had been poisoned made him feel even more helpless. James rarely admitted how much being confined to a wheelchair bothered him, but Lily knew. He'd always hated to sit still; for as long as she had known him, James had _always _been active. He'd played Quidditch incessantly, then he had become an Auror—but now he was prevented from doing either of his loves, and beneath the surface, it drove him crazy.

Lily only hoped that Severus could find a solution before they all went insane.

--------------

Sirius felt rather out of place walking into the Tor. Friendly faces lined the circular room, some standing against the walls and other sitting around the U-shaped table, many of which nodded to him in greeting, smiling here and there. The Tor was the Auror's formal meeting place on Avalon, and Sirius had been there many times before, but he still felt like an outsider. He saw what others did not intend him to see. Behind the smiles lurked wariness, mistrust…and even fear, in a few cases. _What has Adam told you? _he wanted to demand. But Sirius did not. This meeting was too important for that.

Derek Dawlish and Oscar Whitenack entered the Tor right on his heels, and Sirius felt the interested stares shift to those two. Everyone knew that the pair had entered the Riddle House without permission and had found _something_, but the results of their unauthorized reconnaissance had been overshadowed by the attacks on the Longbottoms and the Clearwaters. As important as those results might have been, immediate problems needed immediate help, and everyone knew that Oscar and Derek had escaped completely unscathed before the Death Eaters returned. Thus, their information got lost in the shuffle of death and fear. Even the Aurors were not free from panic, and Voldemort's message had been poignant. Families were now targets.

Also, Alice, who would normally have driven the problem, had to face loses of her own. Sirius' able deputy had fallen out of the loop as she tried to put her life back together and her husband buried himself in his work, which left the able intruders with no direct chain of command to turn to. Eventually, Dawlish had approached Sirius with their report, which had in turn brought all the Aurors to this meeting in the Tor.

Few faces were missing. Glancing around, Sirius could see friends and colleagues that he hadn't spoken to since before the Diagon Alley attack, and he knew that they were watching him with as much, if not more, trepidation than the others. Dozens of eyes followed him, yet not nearly enough—although they were struggling to rebuild, the Aurors had been hit hard. There were still not enough of them to meet the needs of a peacetime Ministry, and at war…there were never enough. But they were strong, and stronger still when they were together like this.

Most conspicuous were the absent Aurors. James, of course, had not come; although they still considered the Minister of Magic as one of their own, he was technically classified as inactive, unable to contribute in the field. Wheelchair bound or not, James would have fallen in that category, but Sirius still missed him. Also missing were the other inactive Aurors, individuals whom Sirius dearly wished would return. The list was short; few were those who decided not to return to the Aurors after capture, but their names were noteworthy. Dung Fletcher, Amanda Pieters, Stephen Hoppner, and Amy Wortman were still missing, though Dung had promised to return in the next year. Stephen Hoppner was also wavering, pressured by his cousin, Alice Longbottom, but he had yet to make a decision, and Sirius missed him as much as the others. Four powerful allies were rotting on the sidelines, holding down jobs far below their abilities: a teacher, a historian, an author and an unimportant flunkie in the Department of Magical Transportation. Yet they feared to choose, and a small corner of Sirius agreed with them. Fear, he understood well.

Others were absent as well, but the active Aurors were gone because of special circumstances or other missions. Taylor Hall was at his three-year-old girl's birthday party, Austin Fenwick accompanying the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discussions about the possibilities of holding the Quidditch World Cup in Britain—provided the war ended—and Missy Erickson was in St. Mungo's, nursing a shattered arm from a raid the week before. But those were the only missing Aurors, and Sirius was glad to see that everyone else had heeded his summons. Fifteen expectant faces studied him, but they were the familiar faces. The less familiar ones were those who Sirius had shocked the others by insisting were present—the members of Auror Candidate Class 4904, who were four days away from being chosen by Mentors and moving out into the real world. Alice had objected, but Sirius felt that this was important; like the others, the candidates deserved to know.

And they were watching him with even more nervousness than the full Aurors, not sure what was going on or what part they would play. Few of his Aurors actually knew the reason behind this meeting, but the candidates were more in the dark than most. Sirius cleared his throat.

"Please sit down," he said. "I think we may be here for awhile."

Chairs scraped as almost everyone complied with his request; a few defiant individuals kept leaning against the wall, including Hestia Jones, who threw a conspiratorial wink in Sirius' direction as he sat down. She was watching the candidates, he noticed, but the wink still shocked him. Jones wasn't exactly a friend, but she had, at least, become a trusted ally.

"Before I say anything else, I will turn the floor over to Derek Dawlish to describe what he and Oscar Whitenack uncovered at the Riddle House. Their discoveries are the reason for this unorthodox meeting." Sirius turned. "Derek?"

Dawlish stood, stealing a sip of water before speaking. Never one to voice formalities, he launched straight into the details. "As you all know, my team was assigned to investigate the recent increase in activity at the Riddle House. The Riddle House is a location that the Aurors have watched for years, ever since the Ministry recognized it as one of Lord Voldemort's early staging points. However, until recently the house remained empty. Weeds grew, but nothing more interesting happened. Until now.

"Oscar and I were on watch, following up on Bill and Hestia's initial discovery. Having established that the Death Eaters had left, we proceeded to investigate. The results of our search, however, were not what we expected them to be." He paused, glancing around the table and studying faces. Sirius did the same, noticing that every eye except for his was riveted on Derek Dawlish. In the five days since Oscar and Derek's illicit reconnaissance, everyone had heard that _something _had happened, though no one knew what and everyone was eager to find out. Derek finally continued:

"Upon entering the Riddle House, Oscar and I had already made several assumptions. One: that there was a heretofore unknown prisoner being held in the house, either because Voldemort no longer trusted Azkaban's security or to keep the individual's existence a secret. Two: that said prisoner was being tortured, judging from the screams heard from the house and from the presence of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. Three: that the Death Eaters _had _departed, owing to the lack of screams and sudden stillness. Four, and most importantly: that this prisoner was of some significance to Voldemort, which indicated a need on our part to act quickly.

"We broke into the house without knowing if the prisoner was present or not. Oscar witnessed Mulciber, Flint, and Rodolphus Lestrange departing with a vaguely human-sized package, which led us to believe that the house was completely empty. While it is possible that their 'package' was intended as a ruse, there is no evidence that they were aware of being watched."

Derek took another sip of water. "We did not find the prisoner," he said bluntly, and Sirius saw the wild hope fade from several faces. Every witch and wizard in that room had lost a close friend or a loved one during the war, and each one of them had dared to hope, just for a moment, that the mystery prisoner might be the one they missed most of all.

Sirius resisted the urge to snort. Knowing what he knew, Dawlish's evidence pointed at something even more extraordinary.

"We did, however, find evidence of a prisoner within the Riddle House's dungeons. This evidence consisted of dried and fresh blood, high security wards, some torn clothing, fragments of a broken wand, and a magical eye."

A ripple of surprise raced around the room, and Sirius heard several people gasp. To his left, Bill Weasley looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach; his eyes were wide and his face was horridly pale. Several others were simply holding their breaths while Frank frowned and Hestia scowled. The candidates just stared, having not come to the same conclusion that everyone else found unavoidable—but then again, most of them were too young to remember.

"While nothing tells us exactly who the mystery prisoner is, Francine Hoyt"—he nodded in her direction—"has been analyzing the wand fragments for any trace of the user. Francine?"

The older woman stood, nodding to acknowledge her colleagues. "I've been working on the wand for several days, but due to its battered condition, I have only been able to establish two things. While I cannot yet pinpoint the owner, I do know that all the fragments came from the same wand, and its owner was—or is, assuming they are still alive—not a Death Eater. I can say with certainty that it is not the wand of a dark magic user, and—"

"Moody," Striker Williamson interjected. "It has to be Moody."

Heads bobbed in agreement, and when Francine tried to interject, she was overshadowed by thirty-five excited voices talking all at the same time. Sirius caught her unhappy frown, though, and remembered. Francine was the oldest of the living Aurors and had been a good friend of Alastor's (some said more than _just_ a friend) despite the fact that she hadn't entered the Aurors until she was almost thirty years old. She was their leading forensic expert, having transferred over from the Department of Mysteries and knowing all kinds of complicated ways to pick problems apart. But if she had doubts…Sirius shook his head and hoped that everyone would just shut up, but the others kept babbling.

"Between the wand and the magical eye, it simply _has _to be," Striker argued. He'd been Moody's last student before the tough Auror had been taken down, and was obviously still burning for revenge. _Revenge_, Sirius mused. _Just like the rest of us._

"I agree," Jessica Avery, another Moody protégée, replied. "There have been very few wizards who ever needed a replacement eye, much less one like Moody's. His was—_is_—unique. It ought to be easy to recognize."

"And I'm sure that the Death Eaters wouldn't let him keep an eye that can see through things," Fred Randolph pointed out sensibly.

"Well, you see—" Francine tried to rein in the excitement, but Adam McMillan cut her off.

"Does the eye match, Francine?"

"Yes, but that's hardly the point," she replied.

"Why would it not be?" Striker interceded again, grinning from ear to ear. His expression was mirrored on many a face; Sirius saw very few sober expressions. Even the candidates had become excited at hearing that one of their heroes was alive. Alastor Moody had long since been _the _standard Aurors were held to; much of the "normal" Wizarding world viewed him as strange, but the Aurors idolized him. He was the best, and always had been. It had taken eighteen Dementors and the Dark Lord to kill him. Moody had been everything every Auror ever dreamed of being.

"The more important question is what we do about this," Jessica said. Her dark eyes were shining, and Jessica was usually the sensible sort. She never jumped into the water without first casting a Flotation Charm, but the enthusiasm was contagious.

"We get him out, of course," Adam replied promptly. Heads nodded emphatically as he spoke.

"But where is he now?" Striker wanted to know. "Azkaban?"

"Probably," Jessica growled, her eyes suddenly cold. Like Sirius, Frank, Bill, and Adam, Jessica had been held in the Wizarding prison. She'd only spent three months there, but her situation was a little different. None of the other Aurors had a Death Eater for a brother—or she had, anyway, until Sirius had killed him during the attack on Grimmauld Place. Jessica, fortunately, was not one to hold a grudge, especially when she'd hated her brother with an all-consuming passion that rivaled Sirius' hatred for Voldemort.

"That complicates matters," Fred muttered thoughtfully.

"Only so much." Surprisingly, it was Jason Clearwater, seemingly emerging out of his grief for the first time and becoming the first of the candidates to speak up. "We've gotten in before. It'd be fairly simple to do the same thing twi—"

"Not that simple," Alice interjected, frowning. "Circumstances are different now."

"How so?" Clearwater retorted. "The prison is still guarded by Dementors and Death Eaters. The Dark Lord lives there. So what if there aren't as many prisoners? We can still do it."

"Speak for yourself, lad," Derek replied. "We went in there with a lot of strength last time, and we still nearly lost. While I'm not against action, we need a better plan than assaulting Azkaban with fifteen Aurors."

"Thirty-five," Calvin Waters cut in, emboldened by Clearwater's actions. "Don't forget us."

Derek scowled. "The—"

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," Bill interrupted. "We have no confirmation whatsoever that Moody is alive, and even if we did, we don't _know _he's in Azkaban. I'd like to find him as much as anyone else, but there are other questions that need to be asked." He turned to Francine. "Do the wand fragments match?" he asked. "Ebony and…" Bill trailed off, his brow scrunching up as he struggled to remember. It had been eight years, after all.

"Unicorn hair," Sirius finished, speaking for the first time since the argument began. "Ebony and the hair from a black unicorn."

Far longer had passed since he'd been Alastor Moody's pupil, but there were some things that one simply did not forget. They'd called him Moody's star more than once, playing off his name and his close relationship with his teacher, but it had been true. Once, just once, Alastor had called Sirius his best student—it had been when he thought Sirius wasn't listening, of course, but he had all the same. And Sirius had been closer to the cranky old Auror than he'd ever thought possible. He'd learned so much, and lost so much…and like the others, he very much wanted to believe.

"Does it match, Francine?" Mucia Coleman spoke up curiously.

Francine sighed. "Perhaps. The wood _is _ebony, but if the unicorn hair is black or not is hard to tell, given the wand's condition."

"Close enough," someone breathed. Sirius couldn't tell who.

"You see?" Striker demanded. "That's such a unique combination that it _has _to be Moody."

"So, then we're back to the original question," Adam agreed. "What do we do?"

Hestia snorted before anyone could respond. "I hate to break up the excitement," she said pointedly. "But in case you've all forgotten, Alastor Moody is _dead_."

"We thought he was," Striker corrected her. Hestia rolled her eyes and started to respond, but was cut off by Waters again.

"Everyone thought _he _was dead, too," the candidate pointed out, gesturing at Sirius. "Obviously, we've been wrong before."

"Yes, but twice?" Hestia countered. "Once was simply incredible. Two is almost impossible."

"Besides, do you really think that Alastor Moody could be kept a prisoner for four years?" Alice asked, reentering the conversation.

"I think anything is possible," Bill said quietly. "There are ways to hold anyone…" Something dark flashed through his eyes, but no one except Sirius seemed to spot it. The red-haired instructor shrugged. "I'm not saying that I agree with the assumption that it must be Moody, but it's a persuasive argument. One worth investigating, at the very least."

"Alastor's dead," Sirius cut him off flatly, wishing that his voice didn't sound so empty, but having let the argument go on long enough.

Heads snapped around to glare at him. "How can you sound so certain?" Jessica demanded.

"Because I was Voldemort's prisoner when he died."

The short answer made the old timers back off immediately, but the younger Aurors were clearly not so eager to do so. Bill, who had been studying Sirius' face impassively, swallowed, seeming to read something that the others did not see, and Frank winced. But Striker spoke up.

"So?" He shrugged an apology. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because he told me," Sirius replied quietly. "When it happened. May fifteenth, nineteen eighty-eight." He paused, and did not mean to speak the next words. "I remember."

"He could have been lying to you," Adam said reasonably.

"He wasn't."

_"I have a present for you, Sirius," the cold voice said for the second time, following the punishment for ignoring the first. Sirius cracked his eyes open slowly, wondering all the while why he even _bothered. _It wasn't curiosity, not really, anyway. Maybe it was just an inner wish to be free of the pain for however few seconds it took Voldemort to show him whatever it was._

_He was hardly conscious. Hardly cared. Six hours of _Poenatoxicum _had wrung all the strength out of him, and Sirius was having trouble breathing. Slowly, the Dark Lord came into focus._

_"Recognize this?"_

_Something dangled in front of his eyes: a vaguely round shape, with something blurry on the top and blood dripping from the bottom. Some of the blood splashed onto Sirius' chest, but he was beyond caring. It simply mixed with his own, blending in immediately. He squinted tiredly as Voldemort jiggled the object, then jerked back in surprise when he realized what it was._

_"Oh, yes. Remember this day, my friend." The cold voice was impossibly soft. "May 15th, 1988." _

"How can you be sure?" Waters demanded. "I mean, you weren't exactly in the greatest of…"

Sirius turned his head to look at the obnoxious candidate, stopping him in mid sentence with a level look. "Because he showed me Moody's head."

Dead silence reigned, until Waters spoke up defensively. "He still could have been lying."

Everyone else ignored him, and suddenly, no one dared to meet Sirius' eyes. They all found something else to stare at—their hands, the tabletop, the paintings on the walls, the carpet, or even a good pair of boots. But no one wanted to look at him, and they all seemed to be waiting for someone to do _something._ Finally, Sirius pushed the memories aside and spoke.

"I don't think it's Moody," he said quietly. "I will even go so far as to say that this is probably a trap—"

Thirty-four mouths opened to disagree, but he held up a hand.

"_However_, I do agree with you. Something must be done. Even if this isa trap, there was _someone_ at the Riddle House, and we must find out who. Therefore, we will work the problem. Dawlish, this remains your case. Request assistance as you need it and do what you have to do. Francine, talk to Ollivander and find out whom that wand belonged to. As for everyone else, the discussion is closed. Information disclosed today does not leave the island. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, though Sirius took note of those who did so with more hesitation than others. Striker, Avery, Clearwater, and Waters were the slowest, while, oddly enough, Adam McMillan seemed to agree _too _quickly. Sirius stopped that thought almost as soon as it rose. Then again, Adam had spent time in Azkaban, and he understood far more than many others would. He was probably glad that they weren't going to try a rushed strike, glad to know that they were proceeding with caution.

Then again, maybe he was just wary. Many Aurors were.

--------------

Later that night, all thoughts of traps and prisoners had disappeared—they had to. Sirius had forced his mind to clear, made himself focus on the thirteen letters spread across the table in front of him. Written on ancient parchment that would have cost him a fortune had he bought it himself, the letters _looked _innocent enough, even if one did read the words. Few enough understood what they meant, anyway, for letters of this type had not gone out since Sirius' father was alive.

He sighed. Sirius had appropriated the posh study located at one end of the Main Villa, more for the privacy it offered than for any creature comforts involved. Officially, the study did belong to him as the head of the Aurors, but Sirius had never put too much stock in status symbols. He'd grown up in a social circle that lived and breathed status and pride, and had had enough of that by the time he was thirteen. However, his current actions had a far greater need for privacy than even his dabblings in old and dark magic.

After all, any letter with the following address was sure to attract notice:

_**T.M****. Riddle**_

_**of**** the Marvolo Line**_

**_Palace on the Shore_**

_**Azkaban**** Island**_****

Yet the Councilarium was required to meet, and he was a Black. More importantly, he was _the _Black within the Fourteen Families, and he had a duty which transcended lines drawn by war and hatred. So thirteen invitations went out under the ancient Black seal, to friends and enemies alike.

_What comes will come, _he told himself. _For better or for worse._

--------------

_September 21, 1992_

**ANOTHER AUROR FALLS, WITH FAMILY**

_by Keith Lindsay, Special Correspondent_

Late yesterday afternoon, tragedy struck. This time, it did not visit the

Clearwater family or the Longbottoms at Glen Ridge; instead, darkness

found a new victim. There were, however, similarities between this most

recent attack and those preceding it. Once again, Death Eaters struck in

broad daylight, invading a home without being challenged and wrecking

havoc on the lives they touched.

Five died in the raid. Taylor Hall, Auror, aged 21. Elissa Hall, aged 23.

Melissa, age 3. Samantha and Richard, age 1.

The Aurors who arrived on the scene refused to comment on the manner

of the Halls' deaths; however, one stunned Muggle neighbor revealed

that he heard screaming before the Dark Mark flashed into the sky.

Therefore, it is safe to assume that the Halls, like so many others, were

tortured to death by the sick followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

One Ministry worker who declined to be named suggested that the father

and Auror, Taylor Hall died last, after watching his family perish.

Taylor Hall left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1989

to become an Auror, marrying the former Elissa Golden in December

of that year. Both were Muggleborn members of Gryffindor House,

which may have been the cause of their deaths.

It is now clear to this reporter that the war has reached a new level, and

that there are no noncombatants left. This is the third Auror whose

family has been attacked, and if innocent children are not safe from He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is? What will this world become at the

end of this war? These questions bear answering, but few seem to have

the courage to do so.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: You didn't think this one was finished, did you? No, PR has another ten or more chapters to go before I get to _Promises Defended_ at all. However, sequel it is, unless I get an epiphany and figure out how to put it all together in one story vice two. At the moment, though, the story just wants to come out in two parts.

Thanks again for sticking with me all this time, and please let me know what you think. Despite my slower posting rates, I continue to love the UU, and writing it is one of my greatest joys. So, please, speak out! If you haven't joined the Yahoo!Group and would like to, please check my profile for the link. If not, stay tuned for PR35: Darkness Deferred, in which the Councilarium meets, the Failed Circle returns, and the candidates grow closer to becoming Aurors.


	35. Chapter 35: Darkness Deferred

Author's Note: I imagine that you're all royally sick of reading my Author's Note and Disclaimer by now, so if you mistakenly believe I own any of Harry Potter, please read the disclaimer on one of the thirty-four chapters before this one. Also, if you don't know what the UU is, I highly suggest looking at another chapter before this one.

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

Chapter Thirty-Five: Darkness Deferred

"Today your final testing begins!" Frank Longbottom boomed, looking rather haggard to the group of twenty trainees, despite the strength of his voice. Still, his eyes were as inscrutable as ever, and the three Senior Instructors stood behind him with equally blank expressions.

"There will be three tests: a final trip through the Labyrinth, negotiation of the Minefield, and a duel with a qualified Auror. You must pass all three tests to be assigned to a Mentor."

Longbottom grinned wolfishly, and Tonks felt a shiver run down her spine. "Passing, of course, consists of _survival _against a fully-trained Auror."

"And what if we win?" Inevitably, it was Jason. He didn't know how to be modest, even if he'd been more subdued in the week since his family died.

Longbottom laughed. "If you win, young man, you'll have joined the ranks of a select few to whom the division has underestimated enough to assign a beatable opponent."

The other candidates snickered, and Tonks _thought _she saw Hestia Jones smile. Immediately, she had to resist the urge to giggle. Smiling was something that their sour-tempered instructor rarely did, and when she laughed, she was definitely laughing _at _them rather than with them. Therefore, if Jones was smiling, it meant she'd been assigned to duel with Jason, and no matter how talented or powerful Jason Clearwater was, Hestia Jones was a tough opponent. Tonks had seen her duel with Shacklebolt before, and she fought dirty.

"Results of these final tests will determine your class ranking," Weasley added, "which will determine what Mentor you receive, along with other factors."

"What other factors?" Calvin Waters asked.

"Choice," Longbottom replied levelly. "Mentors chose their own students, with no questions asked. That is the final factor."

"What else is there?" Alain Brittingham asked, making Jones snicker.

"Worry about that after you pass, Brittingham," she retorted. "You've still got twenty-four hours of testing before a Mentor even thinks about you."

Tonks glanced over her right shoulder just in time to see Alain's face turn pink. She hadn't spoken to him much since their arrival on Avalon, but at Hogwarts, they'd once known each other well. Although he'd been a Hufflepuff and she a Ravenclaw, the two had become good friends, and had even dated briefly during her sixth year (his seventh). They had parted on good terms, but had lost touch over the years, and Tonks had been pleased to see him on Avalon, too, especially since she'd always known that he wanted to be an Auror.

Weasley exchanged a look with Jones before continuing: "You will test in the following order: Whitenack, Tonks, Fisher, Laurence, Haunting, Lockhart, Clearwater…"

Tonks did not bother to listen to the rest; she was too busy trying to quell the butterflies bouncing around in her stomach. Second?She had to go _second?_ The only thing that could have been worse would be standing in June Whitenack's shoes. Poor June already had to live with the fact that her older brother, Oscar, was an Auror; now she had to be he first candidate through the toughest testing that a dozen fully-trained Aurors could design. And Tonks had to go right after her. _Smashing, _she thought sarcastically. _Just bloody smashing._

However, there wasn't exactly time to complain. There was only time to act—something the Aurors had taught her how to do well. Taking a deep breath, Tonks forced herself to calm down and smile, an action that clearly surprised those surrounding her. Dana Lockhart leaned close.

"What are_ you_ grinning about?" she whispered. "You ought to be shaking!"

"Nope," Tonks replied cheerfully, finding that the smile _felt _real.

Dana rolled her eyes. "You're psychotic."

Tonks resisted the urge to giggle. "Yup—err, quite possibly, anyway. Aren't we all?"

"Good point," her friend grumbled. "We'd have to be, to be doing this."

Together, the two stepped towards the Labyrinth; both were in the first half of the group, and would head in that direction while the others waited. As they walked, Tonks stole one last long look around the island—would this be the last chance she had to appreciate its beauty and nobility? Once she became an Auror, she'd spend little time on the island, and none of the Aurors seemed to notice the _aliveness _she always felt on Avalon. She only hoped that she would not lose that feeling upon joining their number.

--------------

As night approached, three significant events came with it. Two of those events had the possibility to change the world, though one group of individuals failed to try and the other could not succeed—but the first event, though the least meaningful, was perhaps the most painful. It was also the only one that would make the front page of the _Daily Prophet _the next morning.

Skeeter's headline would read, "**AURORS WEAKENED: CAN NO LONGER PROTECT THEIR OWN."** The story, however, was a little more complicated than that.

Number 29, Boxhedge Road was a rather nondescript Muggle home before the Dementors approached. It possessed a beautiful front garden and a well-kept lawn, yet the house was worn down just enough to appear comfortable. The lifelong home of two elderly Muggles, the only thing that the house ever did wrong was being owned by the wrong people at the wrong time.

Amanda and Alexander Fisher were both near sixty, having raised their only son rather late in life. Much to their surprise, Alexander Fisher II had turned out to be a wizard, but they had supported him every step of the way. Of course, they never quite understood the war, or what their son was doing as an Auror candidate, but they loved him all the same. They did not need to understand, both said. It wasn't their world.

Unfortunately, their blindness would herald their deaths.

When the Dementors arrived in the darkness, neither would ever scream. They did not see the creatures; neither ever knew what caused the nightmares that suddenly filled their heads. They only knew bitter coldness and terror in those last few moments before the end. Had they been wizards, or lived near other magical folk, the disaster might have been prevented. But they lived in their own world, blissfully unaware of what killed them until the very end.

The bodies remained undiscovered for a day, until their neighbor's daughter arrived on holiday. She discovered _her _father's body, and called Muggle law enforcement in. The end total was nine dead Muggles: the Fishers and seven of their neighbors, who had simply lived on the wrong street at the wrong time. Those seven had not been targets. They had not even known that the Wizarding world existed beyond the realm of fairy tales.

Casualties of war, they would be called by the _Daily Prophet_. The Muggle press began to wonder if there was some previously undiscovered virus on the loose.

--------------

Early evening brought the Failed Circle to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, at Remus Lupin's bidding. He was well aware that doing so was a breech of the Inner Circle's unwritten rules, but the Order of the Phoenix had much to discuss, and much more to accomplish than the shattered Circle could handle alone. In the first days following the destruction of the Country House, Remus had dug through the wreckage, salvaging what could be saved and bringing it to Hogwarts. He had felt that the school had always been the metaphorical heart of the Order, even if the Country House had been the Inner Circle's hidden haven. Fawkes, however, seemed to disagree.

Yet again, the phoenix refused to let a Circle form. Members had been chosen, but there could be no seats until Fawkes decided, and he would not do so. Remus had begged and pleaded, but had finally come to the conclusion that Fawkes had a reason. If he did not, all might be lost.

The headmaster sighed quietly as Sirius entered the room, last to arrive. One would think that he would be the first, since Grimmauld Place was his home, but Remus knew that Sirius had not set foot in the old house since before Voldemort's attack on Diagon Alley. How Sirius was occupying his hyperactive brain on Avalon, Remus did not know, but the only time he had seen his friend since the attack had been for the attempted formation of the Failed Circle. Now, though, he walked into the drawing room wearing the expression of a statue, distant and nothing like the very _aliveness _which had always characterized Sirius Black. Remus swallowed, wishing that he could not so plainly see the strain hidden behind his friend's eyes, and that things had been different. Somehow. Sirius didn't deserve this.

_None of us do_.

He took a deep breath. "Thank you all for coming," Remus began quietly. "For those of you who are new amongst us, allow me to explain how significant this meeting is…"

And so he spoke of the Inner Circle, its history, and its traditional formation. Remus left little out, for as Dumbledore had once told him, there were no secrets in the Circle—the Order could ill afford to tolerate them, especially amongst these eight individuals. So he spoke of the First Circle, formed by now legendary figures in 1976. Dumbledore had spoken of those old comrades with near reverence, and Remus tried to remember that as he told the stories of William Suntrode, Armando Dippet, Alastor Moody, Amelia Bones, David Potter, Arabella Figg, and Minerva McGonagall. He had never known three of the eight members, and yet he could remember the pain in the old wizard's words when he had spoken of their lives…and their deaths.

The Circle had lost many since its formation—out of sixteen total members, a full half were dead. When Dumbledore and 'Bella died, they had been the last of the Circle's original members. Now, all were dead, and their wisdom was gone.

Never before had Remus felt the pressure upon him so greatly. _Why me? _a part of him wanted to scream. Why the quiet one, the reserved one? Why the _werewolf?_ Remus swallowed as he finished, searching for appropriate words to say next and finding none. _What did Dumbledore see that made him trust me? _Had he one opportunity to ask the old wizard one last question, that would have been—_No. It wouldn't, _he realized. _Instead I would ask him why he felt that he had to die._

Remus shook himself free of such thoughts with an effort, blinking. He was painfully aware that every eye was on him, and it was time to act. Whatever the reasons he was there, Remus _was _the Order of the Phoenix, for all intents and purposes. And even his fellows needed guidance.

"This cannot be a true meeting of the Inner Circle," he continued regretfully. "Fawkes refuses for it to be so—he would not even come with me tonight, though I do not understand why. I think he fears…" Remus winced, cutting himself off. "Never mind. Regardless, we are here, and we must discuss the future."

Suddenly, James and Sirius' eyes met across the room. James was still in his wheelchair near the table, while Sirius sat in a large armchair next to the fire. Even though the weather was rather warm for late September, Sirius had immediately charmed the fire to life upon arrival, and then seated himself closest to it. However, his formerly blank expression faded a bit as he returned James' glance.

"We cannot stay long," he said quietly. "James and I. And Snape"

"Why not?" Peter asked, startled. Remus, too, frowned—what did he not know?

"The Councilarium meets tonight," Sirius replied simply.

"What?" Several voices wondered. Surprisingly, it was Severus who answered.

"The Council of the Fourteen," the Death Eater replied. "It meets once every fifteen years, and always on September the twenty-third. We cannot be late."

"I see," Remus said slowly, glancing at the giant clock that leaned against the far wall. "How long do you have?"

"Three hours," James said. "It should be long enough."

"Very well," Remus nodded, desperately wanting to ask why his friends hadn't told him about this before now, but sensing that it was forbidden. Neither James nor Sirius kept secrets from their friends unless they had to, and he understood that some things were not meant to be shared. A quick glance at Peter revealed that Wormtail likewise understood—both had been Marauders far too long not to. As children, perhaps, there had been _no _secrets, but now that promise was tempered by judgment. "Two hours it is."

A short moment of silence reigned before Bill Weasley spoke up. "If you don't mind my asking, why are we here?"

"Many reasons." Remus allowed himself a small smile before continuing. "Mostly because, we, as the Inner Circle, direct the Order of the Phoenix's efforts throughout the war. However, the attack on the Ministry weakened us as much as it weakened the government, and we must repair the damage done. Recent events have proved that we no longer possess the luxury of time—if we do not prove ready to take the war to Voldemort, he will force it upon us.

"Therefore, we must first decide what threats we are facing, and then how to meet those threats. Most importantly, though, we must figure out how to counter the psychological effects of Voldemort's recent victories."

"I don't know if we can," Lily said quietly. "So much has happened lately…everyone is shaken. I hate to say it, but I think even _we _are shaken."

"I—" Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Snape cut him off.

"I disagree," the Potions Master said gruffly. "As cold as it sounds, these deaths may work in our favor. I believe that the Dark Lord may have miscalculated by targeting Aurors' families."

Lily arched an eyebrow "Why do you say that?"

"Because fear is a powerful toxin," Sirius replied. "It always has been. Before this point, those who were not involved in the war were afraid of fighting because they feared the consequences of doing so. Now, however, Voldemort has proven that pain and death are not limited to combatants. _Now_, they begin to fear what will happen if they do not take sides."

"And many of those who sat on the sidelines before, hoping we would win, are those who must act," James finished for him, nodding thoughtfully. "I can't really call this a positive development, but it is, perhaps, a wake-up call."

"Perhaps," Dung grumbled. "But I would expect this to heighten Voldemort's recruitment, not ours."

Snape shook his head. "The attack on the Ministry did so. The massacre in Diagon Alley was even more influential. Beyond that? I think he has gone too far, too fast. As Black said, terror can be a powerful motivation."

"So what do we do with it?" Peter asked, chewing on his lip.

"What _can _we do with it?" Dung asked skeptically.

"Nothing," Remus replied. "Other than talking to people, and stretching out a hand…nothing. But speak to friends and family. See what can be done."

Lily turned immediately to Sirius. "Can you speak to Andromeda Tonks, Sirius?" she asked. "Ted has joined the Order, but she hasn't."

"No," was the surprising answer. "I don't think she'll ever forgive me for forcing her to open her eyes. You'd probably do better than I."

"I will probe amongst the younger Death Eaters," Severus spoke up. "Some of them were friends with Clearwater, and resent his family's death. That may be the influence we need."

"Good idea," Remus nodded, thinking quickly. Did he want to bring the old worry up now? No. _Let the new Circle adjust first, _Remus decided. _It can wait until Fawkes relents and we can completely reform. _He had time.

Yet only time would tell how wrong that feeling was.

"There is something else we need to think about, too," Sirius said suddenly, making heads turn. He'd been so quiet since the attack on Diagon Alley, working unseen and in the shadows. Remus had almost allowed himself to forget Sirius' usual outspoken role—on Avalon, he'd been divorced from decisions, allowing Alice Longbottom to fill his shoes and act as his intermediary. Now, however, it seemed that something had changed.

Heads turned as Bill Weasley grimaced. The two Aurors' eyes met for a brief moment before Sirius spoke on, his voice so detached that it bordered on cold.

"Eight days ago, two Aurors uncovered evidence of a previously unknown prisoner being held in the Riddle House." Bill's eyes were focused on Snape, but surprisingly, Sirius' were not. "Although we cannot positively identify _who _it was, there appears to be reason to believe that someone was there. Evidence suggests that it is Alastor Moody."

Silence fell immediately. Remus swallowed, staring at his old friend and trying to read something, _anything _off of Sirius' face. He remembered his old friend's Mentorship, remembered how close Sirius and Moody had become. Remus, also, had liked the grouchy old Auror, but he had not known him well. Sirius, on the other hand…had he ever looked up to someone as a father figure, it would have been Moody. But his face showed nothing, and his eyes were dark.

Bill was still staring at Severus, and his glare must have been nasty enough to unsettle the older wizard, because Severus immediately replied, "I know nothing of this."

Then again, judging from the look Severus shot Bill, perhaps Sirius' words had unsettled Remus' deputy instead of Bill's glare. Moody was a legend, and like most legendary figures in this war, he was dead. _Or is he?_

"I'm not surprised," Sirius replied emotionlessly.

"Why not?" Peter asked.

"Because the situation is _too _perfect, _too _tempting." Sirius snorted. "Moody, alive after all these years? If it's true, I'll eat Prongs'—excuse me, _James'_—smelly right boot."

Bill frowned slightly. "The evidence adds up."

"Yes, it does, and the Aurors are investigating further," the head of that division replied before James could ask. "But I still think it's a trap."

"Creating such a trap would be rather unlike Voldemort," Dung pointed out.

"No it wouldn't," Sirius rolled his eyes slightly, but Remus saw his right hand twitch in the direction of his left forearm, and could tell that Sirius forcedit away. "He enjoys forcing others to play by his rules."

Severus frowned, but did not comment. Instead, James asked, "Do you think anyone is there?"

"Yes. Someone has to be," Bill replied immediately, then glanced at Sirius. "Don't you agree?"

"I don't think it is Moody," was the oddly evasive reply. "Aside from that…" He sighed. "It's probable."

Others made noises of agreement, but Remus glanced at Severus. He didn't like the look on Sirius' face, realized that the discomfort in his eyes came from more than just the possibility of Moody being alive. There was something deeper, there. Something darker.

"Find out what you can, Severus," he told his deputy, who nodded—but Remus kept looking past him at Sirius and wondering. _What haunts you, old friend? Is it the Mark, or is it something more?_

"And if it's not Moody?" Dung asked darkly. "Do we just leave them there because you think it's a trap?"

Clearly, the jibe was aimed at Sirius, but if the Auror noticed, he did not react. He only shrugged. "No. We have no choice but to act," he said quietly. "We must do so, or risk losing everything for which we fight. Still…I can only hope I am wrong. If I am not…"

He trailed off, but Remus was watching faces, and he saw the set expressions on almost everyone else's. Did they not see it? Or were they too caught up in the mystery to care? Suddenly, Peter met his eyes, and Remus saw recognition flicker. _No. They see it_, he realized. _But like me, Peter and James hold their tongues. This is neither the time nor the place, but _something _is stirring within Sirius, and I fear it._

"Next order of business," Severus interrupted the silence calmly. "Since Death Eaters are on the agenda, I feel obligated to mention that Martha Blackwood has arrived on Azkaban."

James scowled. "Oh, has she now?"

"Indeed," their resident Death Eater replied dryly. "She seems likely to stay, and has been working closely with Bellatrix Lestrange on a new project."

Everyone frowned upon hearing that news; any project Bellatrix Lestrange concentrated on was likely bad for all involved. Her psychotic creativity had harmed many in that room, as was evident by the dark looks on almost every face. However, thinking of Azkaban and Bellatrix Lestrange made something else occur to Remus.

"Is Lee Jordan still on Azkaban?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." Finally, Severus' exposure cracked, and he grimaced. "He is still a prisoner, and I fear for him."

Simple words those might have been, had they come from someone else, but from Severus they were momentous. A proud man, Severus Snape never admitted to fear—Remus had heard such words from him very few times and was shocked to hear them yet again. He knew that Severus cared about his students—even the Gryffindors he claimed to hate—yet hearing the worry in his voice told the headmaster more than any mere words could. Lee was in grave danger, and they had to get him out.

Others were thinking the same. "We need to rescue him," Dung Fletcher said gruffly. "Quickly."

"Children don't belong in that place," Lily agreed softly. Heads nodded, and Remus thought of Lee's poor mother, alone after her husband's death and her son's capture, feeling guilty and defeated.

"But how? Breaking into Azkaban is almost impossible," Peter whispered.

"And it's something we've failed at far more times than we've succeeded," Bill added heavily, his eyes painfully aware of the fact that he'd said what no one else wanted to.

James scowled. "Never mind that fact," he replied. "How should we go about this?"

But no one had an answer, and even the increasingly powerful visions Remus had been experiencing lately had never shown Azkaban. Not once… _Does that mean we will fail, or that we will never try? _He shivered. _Or perhaps we'll find another path, _Remus tried to tell himself unsuccessfully, shivering again. Lee Jordan needed saving, but what if they were not meant to do the rescuing?

--------------

The three left Grimmauld Place together, but took different paths to their destination. Snape, of course, could ill afford to be seen with either James Potter or—especially—Sirius Black, but Sirius also had to arrive alone. Such was his duty, and his fate. He'd never asked to be born as a Black, but he had been, and he would carry out those obligations set forth by his lineage with honor. His mother had often called him a blood traitor, but Sirius had never considered himself one—true, he had never been what _she _wanted him to be, but his pride had not been in purity as much as it had been in honor.

And this was perhaps the greatest honor, though it was an interesting one at best.

The Fourteen Families were one of the older traditions possessed by the Wizarding world, but like so many others, the group had been formed for one purpose and had been warped into fulfilling another. What had began as a coalition of the world's strongest families, working together for the _greater good_ had been twisted and warped into an elitist group seeking only power and more power. Sirius had been heir to _that _tradition. Not the older one.

Now, however, a strange twist of fate had given him a chance to change all that. The last Councilarium had been presided over by Sterling Saturnius Black, as the senior member of the senior family, bearing the name Black, just as the founder of the Fourteen once had. Seirios Black. Sirius resisted the urge to laugh out loud as he raised his wand to Apparate to his destination. The ironies never seemed to cease—but suddenly, he thought of Dumbledore, and words the old man had said to him so many years ago.

_"I know what you are, Sirius, and it isn't what your parents want you to be. It isn't even what you make others believe you are—oh, you are reckless and foolish, and very much a child, but what you have just done marks you as different." Fifteen years old, he'd stared at the headmaster with startled eyes, not understanding. Dumbledore continued: "Always remember that being different is not necessarily wrong."_

But this was no normal meeting of the Fourteen—those were held every fifteen years, and the most recent Councilarium had met in 1984. This was instead a rarer gathering, required to be held whenever a family of the Fourteen died out. Such things had happened throughout history—of the original Fourteen Families, only four remained, and a total of sixteen families had come and gone. Exactly 683 years had passed since the founding of the Fourteen, and the fact that any of the original families still existed was close to miraculous. And this wasn't the first occasion that a member of one family had killed another, but it was the first time that one of the Fourteen _Families _had completely wiped out another.

Sirius gritted his teeth, then forced himself to stop. This was not the time to dig up old grudges—yes, Voldemort had slain the last of the Bones line, but he was one of the Fourteen. He'd been permitted by special vote of the Councilarium in 1954, which meant that he was the last remaining member of the Second Family, and would sit at Sirius' right hand.

_At least, _the last Black thought to himself as he Apparated into the old restaurant's grand entrance hall, _he won't be sitting to my left._

--------------

"Lord Black." The same dark haired man bowed in his direction, and Sirius recognized him immediately as Mr. Salamander. The airy and open front hall of Salamander's had gone still with his arrival; though no one was staring at him, most of the servers and waiting guests were trying too hard _not _to, which made their interest even more obvious. However, Mr. Salamander seemed oblivious to it all, which made Sirius smile slightly.

"Have my guests arrived?" he asked cordially.

"Yes. They await you in the upper hall," the owner replied, not blinking—but then again, every Councilarium since 1849 had been held in Salamander's, just seven years after the opening of the premier Wizarding restaurant. Salamander offered another graceful bow, followed by an equally graceful gesture. "If you would follow me?"

"Willingly."

It was odd how he fell back into the old and formal patterns of speech here—was it that Salamanders reminded him of his childhood, or was he simply fulfilling the role he had to play? Sirius resisted the urge to chew on his lip as he tried to answer his own question, but it was hard. He _should _have been thinking about what was to come, and how he would manage sharing a dinner with the Dark Lord, three Death Eaters, an aunt he had not seen in 17 years, and a score of distant relatives. Almost _all _of the Fourteen Families were related in one way or another, though oddly enough, they were the most diverse of the pureblood families. Purebloods had an annoying habit of wanting their children to stay that way, but the Fourteen were…different. Intermarriage had eliminated several family lines, and they had learned from that lesson. Thus, while Sirius knew exactly how he was related to the last of the Marvolos, it was thankfully distant. _If you can call a cousin distant, _he thought darkly, then banished the thought from his mind. The doors were opening.

They were seated around the marble table as he entered, and rose to greet him. The twelve senior members had, of course, awaited him in silence, each with a glass of Wreyern's best white wine at their left elbow. Ornate scrolls were precisely placed on the black marble surface, and the golden writing on each matched perfectly with the gold inlaid in the marble. No sign of the meal was evident yet, but that too was custom. They would not eat until the newest family was introduced.

This Councilarium, however, was a little different from the traditional meeting of the Fourteen. When the families met every fifteen years, the senior of each branch would bring their designated heir—just as Sterling Black had brought a nine-year-old Sirius to his first Councilarium in 1969. What little he knew, he remembered from that day or had read in the records kept by every Black since Seirios, and as much as he admired the traditions—the old ones, not the warped ones—he hated them just as strongly.

Twelve sets of eyes followed him as Sirius stepped into the room, but he did not flinch as he made his way to the far side of the oblong table, quickly absorbing the seating arrangement. It was, of course, correct in every possible way—each individual was arranged by order of precedence, with those from older families sitting closest to Sirius' own seat. Thus, he was sandwiched between Marvolo on his right and Malfoy on his left, with the empty seat across from him. James, unfortunately, was on the other side of the table, at the far right corner away from Sirius and seated next to Snape. Snape was one of the anchors, sitting on the end across from Osborne Blackwood and thankfully distant from Sirius.

He halted behind his chair, noticing that Salamander had wisely disappeared. Slowly, Sirius crossed his hands on the chair's back and studied the others.

"I hereby call this Fifty-Sixth Councilarium to order," he said solemnly, "held for the purposes of renewing the Fourteen Families. We mourn our dead"—_Slain by our own, _he did not say—"and lift our faces to the future. Be seated."

Chairs did not scrape on such soft carpet, but the others sat upon his order, watching him quietly. An eerie set of red eyes to his right sent a shiver down Sirius' spine, but he resolved to ignore the monster, even when his left forearm twinged in response. This was not the time nor the place, and he doubted even Voldemort had the gall to do so on purpose. He was too much in love with Wizarding traditions to dare.

"Our primary purpose this evening is the admittance of a new family to the Fourteen," Sirius continued. "The highest ranking of the families on the outskirts are Longbottom, Avery, and Flint. We will examine Longbottom first."

As he spoke, the thirteen scrolls laid out began to unroll further, revealing the Longbottom family tree and the entire family history. Most of the members looked down at them immediately, either reading or pretending to do so, but Rodolphus Lestrange and Stephen Hoppner did not bother. Instead, they stared at Sirius stonily, as if daring him to object. He did not; it was their choice, and their loss. Even a Black could not force the Fourteen in any direction.

Sirius allowed himself to study the others in the silence. To Voldemort's right, Cornelia Crouch—the youngest member of the Fourteen, but having inherited her seat after the deaths of her uncle and cousin—chewed on her lower lip as she read, considering every word with care. Both her parents were dead, Sirius knew; she had been raised by relatives from her mother's side, yet Cornelia obviously understood her obligations as a member of the Councilarium. Next to her, Snape was typically expressionless, and James was as well. To James' right was Alfred Lichtenstein, the oldest member; he had to be nearing two hundred, and Sirius doubted that he'd make another meeting.

Skipping over the empty chair, the suave and handsome Lance Delacour came next. He was a half-Veela and showed it, but he was also one of France's most famous Potions Masters, said to rival even Severus Snape. He sat next to Rodolphus Lestrange, who was still glaring at Sirius—Bellatrix's husband was the only member who had not managed to put personal animosity and the war aside upon entering the room. _What a disappointment he must be to Bella, _Sirius thought. _Not stupid by any means, but he's not exactly brilliant, either, and he isn't nearly as controlled as she would like._ To Rodolphus' left was the other non-reader, Stephen Hoppner, who was now staring off into space distractedly. An inactive Auror after his stay in Azkaban, he had once been a friend of Sirius', and sitting next to one of Voldemort's chief torturers had to grate on him. That, however, had nothing to do with his refusal to read the scroll. In fact, Stephen was Alice Longbottom's cousin, and probably knew all that information already.

Next to him and at the other end of the table was Osborne Blackwood, the brother of James' erstwhile healer, Martha. What side he preferred in the war no one knew, but Sirius strongly suspected that he was putting family first…just like another of the Fourteen. _Strange what we are driven to do._ Morgan Montague was next, slender, beautiful, and serious looking in black. To her right was Sirius' own aunt, Lydia Vablatsky. Lydia looked enough like Sirius to be his mother, which was no surprise, considering that she was Aurelia Vablatsky-Black's older sister. Unfortunately, the similarities did not end with looks—the two sisters were very much alike, and Sirius had only marginally better memories of his aunt than he did his mother. Last and to Sirius' left was Lucius Malfoy, whose presence would have made Sirius bristle if not for his startling resemblance to someone Sirius missed desperately. Unlike his close relative, Rodolphus, Lucius was studying the scroll closely, probably searching for a persuasive argument.

Sirius tried to chase the grim thought away, but was unsuccessful. Families had been refused positions within the Fourteen before, he knew. Ravenclaw had been rejected at the original formation in 1309 in favor of Bane, due to the fact that their entire line was descended from Rowena Ravenclaw's bastard son, David. It had taken until 1602 for Ravenclaw to enter the Fourteen, and even then there had been much discussion. Likewise, Ivan had been refused in 1600, only to enter the Fourteen two years later. Meliflua had been rejected and permanently removed from consideration in 1882, but that had been due to a unanimous vote of the Fourteen and there had been cause.

_Let's hope none of those precedents matter today, _Sirius thought to himself, shaking himself out of such dark thoughts. Although the Avery clan wasn't such a bad second choice (what with the brother dead and Jessica senior until she married), adding the Flints would bring another of Voldemort's allies into the Fourteen, which might overbalance the interesting compromise that defined the Councilarium—but it was time. Even old Lichtenstein had stopped reading.

"Evidence supports that the Longbottoms possess the appropriate age, purity, and legacy," Sirius said. "Are there arguments or objections?"

Of course there were. The only question was who would get in first.

"You neglected to mention their _conduct_, cousin." He should have known that it would be Rodolphus Lestrange, who wasn't really his cousin, but was sickeningly close enough.

Fortunately, even Malfoy glared at him for this idiocy, which made Sirius want to laugh. Death Eater politics were as cutthroat and ambitious-driven as any Slytherin class reunion, and it was good to see old "Moldy Roldy" being ignored for acting like a fourteen year old. Still. _Some things, _Sirius mused silently as he mulled over an answer to Rodolphus' objection, _just don't change. _However, the need to answer was taken away from him by Lydia Vablatsky, who glowered across the table with narrow gray eyes.

"Conduct, young man, is defined in two ways for the purposes of the Fourteen," she said archly. "Either as honorable, or dishonorable. Thus—"

"I thank you, Lady Vablatsky, for making my point for me," Rodolphus foolishly cut her off. "Clearly, the Longbottoms have failed to _honorably _live up to the standards of conduct set forth by—"

"Rubbish." Hoppner snorted, rolling his eyes. "Simply because they oppose _you_ is not sufficient reason to depict them as dishonorable. Having the courage to stand up for your convictions exhibits the highest honor."

"False convictions? Foolish choices? _Dishonorable _and _degrading _support for Mudbloods?" Rodolphus demanded. "What honor is there in _that_?"

"More importantly, do we want to set such an example by allowing such blood traitors into our midst?" Blackwood added, making Cornelia Crouch's mouth drop open. Immediately, she flushed red and started to reply, but Malfoy's drawl overrode her.

"For over six hundred years, the Fourteen Families have remained strong through ensuring our unity and purity," he purred. "So many years of tradition cannot be so easily disregarded—must we disrespect our _own _beliefs in order to expand our numbers?"

"Speak for yourself," Montague growled, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. "The Longbottoms are as ancient a family as many here, _and_ history has proven them to be strong supporters of Wizarding traditions."

"When it suits them," Blackwood retorted.

"You—" Hoppner started.

"That's enough," Sirius cut him off. "If we cannot—"

"Who are you to speak, _blood traitor_?" Rodolphus cut in furiously. "You try to speak as if you had some _standing _in this council of your betters. Do you think yourself _important, _cousin? Do you think we _care _what you decide is enough? You're worse than the Longbottoms, scum. You're a traitor to your class."

"You speak of traitors, _torturer?_" Lydia Vablatsky asked acidly, her silver eyebrows arching imperiously.

Sirius had been trying to hold back a smile when Rodolphus had finished his tirade, but Vablatsky's reaction surprised him. His own mother would have approved of his cousin's views, but Lydia was cut from a different cloth than her younger sister. For that matter, Lydia's own son, a deceased Death Eater, had been a close friend of Rodolphus'…but she, it seemed, was no Voldemort sympathizer. Old fashioned, traditional, and arrogant though she was, perhaps someone in Sirius' family had a small molecule of sense.

"I—"

"Desist, Rodolphus," a cold voice interrupted, startling almost everyone at the table. Sirius fought against the urge to jerk away in surprise—this was the first time in his life when that voice had not been a precursor to pain or battle.

Immediately, the Death Eater fell silent, still glaring daggers at Sirius but not daring to meet his lord's eyes. Pain prickled along Sirius' arm again, but he forced himself to nod at the man to his right. "Thank you, Lord Marvolo."

The ancient forms of address still survived within the Fourteen—while none of them held what Muggles would call titles, the oldest families were indeed the Wizarding world's nobility. While Sirius did not put as much stock in that belief as many of the others, he was aware of his position. And referring to Voldemort as Marvolo somehow made civility easier.

"My pleasure." Those words sounded positively surreal coming from Voldemort's mouth, but they had all the same. His arm tried to twitch. Sirius ignored it and continued.

"My Lords, my Ladies, we have digressed. As others have so…_eloquently _stated, the Fourteen Families should be, and are, above such petty squabbling." He was quite sure that Rodolphus had not meant _precisely _that, but the point was made. "We are all aware of the war raging just beyond these walls. Many of us will reenter it the moment we leave this place. However, that war is immaterial. We are here to decide upon the Fourteenth Family. I will see a division now."

He looked right, choosing to start the hard way. Voldemort's first move would indicate how his followers would act. "Lord Marvolo, we would appreciate your guidance."

His stomach tried to twist into a knot of nausea, but Sirius pushed the feeling away. Their world, he kept reminding himself, had not always been this way. And if there was any chance of change, it might just have to start with the individuals in that room—some, of course, would never abandon their bigoted beliefs. The others, however, could make a difference. They could change fate.

"I am honored, Lord Black," the other replied softly…but there seemed to be an underlying tension in his voice, somehow—

_"You know I'll fight you every step of the way."_

_"Yes, you will. But why?"_

Memory.

_"Because you don't understand things like hope."__ The other choked, and blood burbled up from between his dirty teeth, but the answer was surprisingly serene, for all the pain in his voice. "Or friendship."_

_"The kind of friendship that leaves one of its own for dead?"__ He wanted to laugh, but somehow could not force himself to do so. _

_"I made my choices," he whispered._

_Now he did manage a smile, but it felt empty. Anger boiled up within him, and he did not know why. Pointless defiance usually amused him…but not from this man. Not anymore. It was no longer pointless. "And now you live with them. With me."_

Sirius blinked, certain that the memory had passed within the blink of an eye, but feeling rattled all the same. He had to force his suddenly tense body to relax, knowing that the others were watching, knowing that his worst enemy sat to his right—

_Pen scratched on paper._

_'I also do not believe I will break him if I continue in the same manner… I am fascinated by him, I will admit that as well. He is the only one that has ever withstood me.'_

Whose memories _were _these?

Without meaning to, Sirius glanced to his right, and saw a startled—nay, _frightened_—pair of red eyes staring back at him. For a moment, he thought he saw a hint of blue beneath the burning red, but that vanished along with the fear. As one, two expressions schooled down into nothingness, becoming blank and attentive once more. Had anyone else noticed the exchange? Sirius stole a glance around the table, but saw nothing. Had it really happened so fast? Voldemort continued, and his cool voice sounded exactly the same. _Is this just my imagination?_

"Tradition, purity, and lineage must be considered above all else," he declared. "The Longbottoms are acceptable."

Sirius hadn't expected argument, but Rodolphus had, and he flushed with fury—only to go pale with fear the moment Voldemort turned to him. "Have you an objection?" the Dark Lord asked archly.

"No, My Lord," the Death Eater mumbled, staring at the tabletop. Lydia Vablatsky snorted, and Sirius knew what she was thinking. Bellatrix would have argued; Rodolphus did not dare. Then again, Bella had always been stronger than her husband, stronger than both the Lestranges, for that matter. It was a shame that women could only enter the Councilarium while they retained their maiden names—even Vablatsky was only there because she had never married, avoiding the stigma associated with bearing a bastard child by arranging his birth. Of course, it was not the first time that a senior matron of the Fourteen had done such a thing; she had simply enlisted the aid of Julius Malfoy, who had already fathered two children and was unlikely to prove paternal over the existence a third.

No one ever mentioned that the deceased Alexander Vablatsky had been half-sibling to both Lucius and Julia Malfoy. Such things just weren't said.

"We have two in favor. I now again call for a division," Sirius said, regaining control of the discussion. "Lord Malfoy?"

As always, Lucius' reply was aristocratically precise. "Accepted, with reservations."

"Lady Vablatsky?"

"Acceptable."

"Lady Montague?"

"Acceptable."

And so the division began. In order of precedence, Sirius asked each head of the Fourteen in turn, watching their faces carefully. Some, like Lestrange, agreed only because they _had _to—Rodolphus had neither the wit nor courage to abstain. Snape, however, did, and he very quietly _disagreed_, citing his fears for the future of the Fourteen if heirs such as Neville Longbottom were allowed within their august council. Sirius saw several sets of eyes narrow in response, and had to admit that Snape played his part extremely well. His hatred for young Longbottom was well known, even outside of Hogwarts, though thankfully few remembered the strange friendship that had formed between Snape and _Frank_ Longbottom during their Hogwarts days. Had anyone, they might have wondered why the Death Eater so opposed the entrance of the Longbottoms into the Fourteen.

_Then again, I suppose that we all have our roles to play_, Sirius thought quietly.

Montague, Crouch, and Hoppner concurred. Blackwood abstained, clearly mindful of the Dark Lord's wrath, and left Sirius wondering if perhaps Osborne had joined the Death Eaters' ranks as well—or was, at least, flirting with the idea. James, of course, agreed, and so did Lichtenstein. A frowning Delacour came last, but in the end he agreed. Sirius, however, vowed to watch the half-Veela Frenchman. There was something disturbing in his eyes.

Sirius rose. "By vote of eleven in favor, one against, and one abstained, the Longbottom family is admitted to the Fourteen. The Councilarium will reconvene in one hour's time to greet the Fourteenth Family."

--------------

When a knock came on the door to the spacious quarters Frank and Alice shared on Avalon, the last person Frank anticipated seeing was Sirius Black. What's more, he had _not_ expected an immaculately-groomed and elegant Sirius Black. Dressed in expensive robes of black and navy silk, Sirius looked more like a _Black _than Frank could ever remember him appearing. He'd known the younger Auror since Hogwarts, and had always admired Sirius' steadfast refusal to become what his wicked family wanted him to be. Yet now he was fulfilling that role in a surprisingly complete way—especially for an Auror on Avalon.

Before he could speak, Sirius offered a very formal and old fashioned bow. "I bear an invitation to the Councilarium," he said quietly. "Of the Fourteen."

"Of the—"

The folded and sealed parchment that Sirius held hung extended in the air between them, and Frank blinked. He had little care for the status games played by the oldest families in the Wizarding world (his own included), but he was a pureblooded wizard of an ancient family. Frank had long known of his family's status, known that they were on the outskirts, just one step away from the Fourteen, yet never amongst their number.

"The Bones," Frank said quietly, well remembering their deaths. He had forgotten, however, what that would mean.

"Yes." Sirius' voice was strangely distant, but he nodded towards the letter, sealed, Frank suddenly realized, by an emblem older by far than his own. _The Black seal._ Accepting the letter, he opened it to read:

**You are hereby requested and required to attend the Councilarium of the Fourteen Families at ten o'clock Post Meridiem on the twenty-third day of September, in the year nineteen hundred and ninety-two.**

**By the hand and action of:**

**Sirius Black**

**of**** the First Family**

"If you refuse, the next family is Avery," Sirius said quietly. "Our world is run enough by fear and by darkness. I would not have the Fourteen reflect those feelings."

_Of the First Family._ Never before had Frank seen Sirius like this—never so cool, so collected, so in control. He had always remembered the brash and reckless boy who had been four years behind him at Hogwarts, and who had carried those same qualities over into his conduct as an Auror. He'd always been brilliant, yet Sirius was also as rebellious as he was unpredictable. Now there was something different about him, something implacable.

Frank nodded slowly, his mind racing. Even as he tried to comprehend the changes in Sirius, one other thought occurred to him. "Is he there?"

"Yes."

The blue eyes were calm, so calm. Had something snapped, or had something grown?

"I will come," Frank replied slowly. "I don't know what difference I can make, but perhaps…" He swallowed. "Perhaps."

Sirius' slight nod was a strange response, but Frank felt something tingle within him. There was something, a feeling just beyond his comprehension, a sense that _something had changed_. It was almost as if the world had twisted and then had fallen back into place.

His eyes met Sirius', and Frank saw. Sirius knew.

The other man's voice was quiet.

"Then let it begin."

  


---------------

  


Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Yet again, I apologize for the delay; the week simply hasn't been kind to me or my betas. I'm posting this from aboard the mighty USS CAPE ST GEORGE, so the time between this update and the next might be a bit longer than desired, but I will get it up as soon as I can. Please let me know what you think, and stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Six: In Fires Forged, or (more creatively titled) In Which Traitors Abound, An Auror Dies, and The Search For Immortality Continues.


	36. Chapter 36: In Fires Forged

Author's Note: Not mine. Back up and read the disclaimer if you're mistaken enough to think so (Don't I wish!). And if you don't know what the UU is, I highly suggest backing up all the way to_ Promises Unbroken._

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Six: In Fires Forged_

September 24th.

The last day.

Tonks could not help smiling. For almost four months she had worked for this day, had sweated and bled and fought for it. Often, she'd thought that the end would never come—even in the midst of their final tests this moment had seemed ages away. Now, though, they were there; nineteen members of Auror Candidate Class 4904 had _made _it. Within an hour, they'd be chosen by Mentors, and the final stage of their journey would begin.

Dana grabbed her elbow. "I can hardly believe that we're here," she whispered.

Tonks' grin grew. "Me neither."

The candidates stood clumped together on Training Field 2, with their backs to the lake. Facing them were the active Aurors, though Tonks only counted eighteen of them to the candidates nineteen—did that mean that someone would not receive a Mentor? Tonks swallowed and suddenly didn't feel like smiling any more. There should have been twenty candidates, and would have been had not Alexander Fisher chosen to leave on the very eve of the end of their training. He had no heart left for the war, he had said, and despite everyone's attempts to convince him otherwise, Alexander had left. He'd willingly submitted to a stringent memory charm in order to keep Avalon's location and purpose hidden, but Tonks did not know where he'd run to. All she knew was that he was gone, and Class 4904 was still reeling from his departure.

It had been hardest on June, she knew. June Whitenack had been closest to Alexander out of everyone, so close that the other candidates had began to wonder what might happen between the two after their training was complete. Now, though, Oscar Whitenack's younger sister was distant and distracted, torn between being betrayed and worried. Alexander had left without a word—one morning, he'd simply turned up missing, and no one had known that he'd left until Hestia Jones revealed that he'd come to her during the night to say that he was leaving the Aurors forever.

Dana elbowed her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Tonks jerked out of her reverie. "I was just thinking."

"You were far, far away," her friend replied. "Rather like Cornelia has been this morning."

"No kidding," Tonks breathed. Another mystery, that. Cornelia had disappeared the evening before, and even the instructors did not seem to know why. Unlike Alexander, she'd returned just as midnight struck, seeming shaken but in good health. She'd also been very quiet and had stayed in a thoughtful reverie throughout breakfast, not speaking to anyone unless asked a direct question. Now, though, Tonks could see Cornelia standing between Horace and Jason, smiling slightly at some egotistical comment Jason had made.

They were a strange group, the candidates of section four, but they'd come together over time. While Jason would undoubtedly remain arrogant, overconfident, and slightly self-centered, he'd come down from his earlier superiority and had worked hard to graduate first in their class. Cornelia had probably changed the most, transforming from a dignified, quiet, and _traditional_ member the Fourteen Families to a creative and open-minded Auror. She still managed to project the natural grace and self-assurance that Tonks could only wish she possessed, but Cornelia had become one of their own. Horace, too, had grown more confident—his time on Avalon seemed to free him from the weight that being a Muggleborn Slytherin had placed upon his shoulders. He was still downright sneaky, of course, but sneaky was a good quality in an Auror, and he'd snuck up to graduate second in their class, squeaking through only a handful of points ahead of June Whitenack and Alain Brittingham. Dana had probably changed the least—she was still light-hearted, hard working, and entirely too bold—but she had somehow become the residential risk-taker in their section, which perfectly balanced out Cornelia's caution and Horace's subtlety.

Yet they had become close somehow. Oh, Jason still drove everyone save Cornelia crazy (and Tonks suspected that he actually irked the calm and beautiful ex-Slytherin more than the others on occasion), but they were a _team. _They could, and would, stand side by side no matter what came. Stress, pain, and pressure had forged bonds deeper than Tonks had spent seven years at Hogwarts building with her former classmates. Those had been mere friends. Her fellow candidates were something more.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd of assembled candidates and Aurors, making Tonks look up. Sirius Black had stepped forward, his dark blue robes swirling around him in the slight wind. He cleared his throat, but there was no need to. Everyone was already staring.

"You are now all Aurors," he said quietly. "We care not for your origins, for your family, for your friends or for your past. Old loyalties have no place here; there are no divisions between former Houses or heritage. You are all equal. You are all Aurors.

"One tenth of one percent of the Wizarding World chooses to take the path you have embarked upon. You would not be here if you were not the best. You are the few who choose to become the barrier between dark and light. You have chosen a hard path that will seldom reward you with anything greater than death. Beside me"—he gestured at the side of the Library, and names slowly faded into existence on the wall to his right—"is the Wall of Remembrance. Engraved upon it are the names of those who have come before you and fallen in defense against the dark. Few will ever understand the choice you have made, save all those who have stood in this field as you are standing now."

Tonks had never seen those names before, had never even known they were there. Suddenly, though, she realized that this was the final symbol. It had begun.

"If statistics are anything to go by," Sirius continued evenly, "many of you will die. But if tradition is anything to go by, you will do so bravely, and perhaps most importantly of all, _you will make a difference. _Once you leave this place, many will claim that your actions are meaningless. That the war isn't worth fighting. But these names prove the lie in those words. If nothing else, honor their sacrifices. Carry on where they could not, and become the next generation in a long line of Aurors.

"Since the days of the Roman Empire, Aurors have guarded the innocents amongst Wizarding kind. We have held the line, and defeated the forces of darkness even when they stood at their strongest. Today, you will step forward and assume those responsibilities by the side of your Mentor."

Slowly, he withdrew a scroll from inside his robes, and the candidates held their breath in anticipation. Tonks felt a shiver run down her spine—this was it. She was about to find out who she would spend up to the next year fighting beside, learning from, and emulating. _Please don't let it be Jones, _she thought desperately. _I'd gorge my own eyes out with a teacup if I had to spend another year around her! _Tonks almost laughed at her own thought. She respected Hestia Jones mightily, but the younger woman was certain they'd clash personality wise. Jones was simply too…conventional. That, and she'd already tried to call Tonks Nymphadora once.

"Clearwater, Jason." As Sirius spoke, Hestia Jones stepped forward, much to Tonks' delight. She would be a perfect match for Jason—acid enough to poke holes in his ego, and so sharp that even Jason would have problems keeping up. Even more importantly, her being assigned to Jason indicated that _Tonks _wouldn't be getting Jones, and that was just fine with her!

Jones shook hands with Jason, and they moved off to the side together.

"Smeltings, Horace." Jessica Avery stepped up, and Tonks slapped Horace on the shoulder as he walked past, grinning. On the surface, those two seemed an interesting combination: the sister of a deceased Death Eater and the only Muggleborn Slytherin in living memory simply didn't _match_, but Tonks knew they were much alike. More Slytherins than she would have thought joined the Aurors, and those two were of a kind.

"Whitenack, June." The lithe blond bounded forward to meet her Mentor, and Adam Macmillan almost dwarfed her small size. Macmillan wasn't especially tall, of course, but June managed to be five feet tall on a good day—if she was wearing thick soled boots. But Macmillan grinned upon receiving her, and the pair joined the others between the schoolhouse and the lake.

"Brittingham, Alain." Tonks' onetime boyfriend joined Mucia Coleman to the left, and she tried to smile for him when he caught her eye. They hadn't ever been serious, but he was a good man—she only wished that he'd move off to the side faster. The entire process was taking too long.

"Binns, Gabriel." Kingsley Shacklebolt met the great grandson of Hogwarts' most boring (and most dead) professor, making many of the candidates frown jealously. Shacklebolt was everyone's second favorite instructor, and if he was taken—

"Tonks, Nymphadora." Much to her delight, Bill Weasley stepped forward at the same moment she did, and Tonks heard Dana whisper _"Lucky you!" _to her back. Weasley _was _everyone's favorite instructor, with the possible exception of Jason, who insisted that the girls only liked him because of his looks. While Tonks couldn't deny that Weasley was good looking, she certainly didn't think that had any bearing on his teaching abilities. Besides, _she _wasn't the one who'd gone on for an entire hour about how _wonderful _his eyes were, and she ignored the rest of whatever Dana was muttering behind her.

Weasley held out a hand, but Tonks managed to trip over her own feet even as she reached for it. He ended up catching her as the other candidates snickered, and Tonks felt her face flush when even Sirius chuckled. "Thanks," she muttered.

"You're most welcome, Ms. Tonks," Weasley chuckled softly, but somehow she didn't think it was at her expense. Not entirely, anyway. "Or do you prefer Nymphadora?"

"Most definitely not!" she retorted quickly, then blushed again. "I mean, Tonks is fine. Is great."

"Tonks it is." He chuckled again, and tugged on her arm, pulling her off to the side. "C'mon."

They joined the others, and Tonks felt her racing heart calm down a little. She'd made it. Training was over—aside from Mentorship, and she'd been assigned to the one Mentor she would have wanted the most. If she hadn't managed to trip over her own feet, it would have been a perfect day…but then again, she always managed to trip over something, so this probably was about as perfect as it got.

The rest of the assignments seemed to move faster than the first five, but maybe that was just because she didn't have to wait any more. Lunch was next, and then they'd move out into the real world. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to leave Avalon again. The candidates had only been on the island for three and a half months, but it felt like forever. Maybe that was because they'd all changed so much.

Still, watching the others was interesting. Cornelia ended up with Frank Longbottom, who was still studying everyone carefully, as if he was looking for one last mistake to point out. Coincidentally, Alice Longbottom chose the remaining member of section four, and Tonks saw Dana's grin when she realized that she was paired with the number two Auror in the division. The oddest pair of all, however, was probably Oscar Whitenack and the obnoxious Calvin Waters, whom Tonks could not stand. From what she'd seen, the elder Whitenack was just like his younger sister, upbeat and thoughtful, instead of loud, reckless, and irritating like Calvin. _I'm surprised anyone wants Calvin, _Tonks thought to herself. _Whitenack _must _be nice to have accepted him._

When Simon Edgecombe's turn rolled around, though, a murmur of surprise ran through the crowd. He, too, was chosen by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and shortly after that, Francine Hoyt picked up a second student as well. Everyone had expected one Mentor to be doubled up (there simply weren't enough to go around if someone didn't), but no one had expected two. Except for Tonks, and she wasn't at all surprised that her cousin chose not to mentor someone. If anyone had reason not to, it was Sirius Black.

He rolled the scroll up and grinned, suddenly pointing his wand at it with a flourish. "I spoke of tradition today," he said. "Yet there is another, less _grim_, one that must be observed."

_"Incendio!" _

Even as he spoke, Sirius threw the scroll high in the air, and everyone stared as the jet of red light struck it and the paper burst into brilliant flames. After a moment, cheering broke out amongst the former candidates, and Tonks saw several full Aurors grinning, too.

"It is done," their leader announced. "Congratulations to all Mentors and students for reaching this point. I will not impress upon you the importance of the duties and responsibilities you now face—each of you knows them too well. I will, however, impress upon you the importance of getting to lunch while it's still warm."

They laughed together, the thirty-eight old and new Aurors. Later, Tonks would realize that somehow that moment had cemented things. For the first time, they were a team, and they would stand together until the end. As Sirius had said, they were the wall between darkness and light. They were too few for the job, for the most part too young, too new, and too inexperienced, but they would try. Live or die, they would try.

--------------

This was the third day in a row Remus had chosen not to eat lunch with his students in the Great Hall. Usually, he did so, despite the fact that he could have just as easily had food delivered to his office, his chambers, or to wherever he chose. However, there were some moments when even a headmaster simply had to be alone, and this was one of them.

_Sirius walking. Alone._

The visions were increasing in frequency if not in clarity. Dumbledore's scant notes on the Font had hinted that this might happen if he became worried or upset, but Remus had not expected it to be like this. It was almost as if the Font was trying to help him sort out his problems, but did not know how. It was feeding him information at an amazing rate, but the flow made no sense. One moment, he'd see Sirius alone, and the next Remus was there, along with James and Peter. Then his visions would take another leap, and he'd see the dead and dying or simply Hogwarts surrounded by Dementors and darkness. He could no longer differentiate between what had been, what might be, and what _would _be—there had to be some trick to it, but Remus had no idea how.

He only knew that a cold knot formed in his stomach every time he saw Sirius walking across a windswept field alone. That was the most prevalent vision, the most clear. And it was the same frightened feeling that he felt every time he looked at his old friend and read the change in his eyes, the darkness in his soul. Remus didn't want to ask what was happening, but he feared it.

Closing his eyes, the headmaster let out a deep breath. Sooner or later, he'd have to mention his concerns to someone, but he had a feeling that Sirius wasn't the one to talk to. _I'll go to James first, _he decided abruptly. _James and Peter. It's best that we take this to him together—_

_Thunder rolling over an island that Remus had never seen before._

_Dark shapes soaring across rough waters._

_Figures running along the beach. Spells firing into the too-early night._

_Sirius stepping forward, shouting to someone—_

Remus blinked, but doing so only changed the visions. A face flashed before his eyes, too quickly to recognize but dwelling long enough that he could sense something _tainted _about it. Something evil—

_Howling._

Snap.

_"Are you mad? Take the offer while you still can!" _

_Tight faced and pale, James shook his head. "No."_

_"This is our only chance!" Fudge screeched. "How many more have to die before—"_

_"I will not surrender."_

_But there was turmoil in his hazel eyes…_

Remus jerked out of the visions, gasping for air. Had his worry for Sirius given the Font such power over him? Dumbledore's notes had never mentioned such a loss of control, but Remus was close to losing it. Every time the Font swept him away, he took longer and longer to come back, and even Fawkes was no longer helping. Once, the phoenix would have pulled him free, but now…Remus swallowed. _What has changed? Does he no longer trust me?_

Resisting the urge to bite his lip, the headmaster turned to look at Fawkes. His bond with the bird had deepened past the need for normal speech, but sometimes…sometimes he wondered. Fawkes had been Dumbledore's companion, then had bequeathed himself to Dumbledore's successor at Hogwarts, but their relationship was not the same. Once, Remus had thought it might be, but lately the bond had become more brittle. There was a degree of coldness in it now that had never existed before, and that frightened Remus. Bearing responsibility for the Font's power and the burden of protecting Hogwarts had stretched him close to breaking, and if Fawkes abandoned him, Remus knew he would be lost.

_And that's it, isn't it? _he suddenly asked himself as the pieces started falling into place.

The war had done more than stretch Remus to his limits; it had isolated him from his friends. For years, they had been living separate lives, but they had always found moments to be together—especially before they knew that Sirius was alive. After his miraculous appearance, the Marauders had become even closer; they had needed one another then more than ever. Now, though, their work was tearing them in separate directions. James was struggling to hold the government together, Sirius had isolated himself on Avalon, and Peter was still traveling from country to country in a futile effort make everyone else see that Voldemort was the _world's _problem, not just Britain's. The problem with that, however, was that Voldemort had concentrated his atrocities, wisely taking one step at a time and, except for isolated incidents, not provoking outsiders. They feared him, but each nation tried to hide, hoping that if they kept their heads down, they might somehow avoid notice.

_Is that what we're doing?_ Remus bit his lip, and turned the thought over in his mind. He wasn't precisely lonely—he was surrounded by friends and colleagues—but he did feel as if a part of himself was missing. How long had it been since the Marauders had been together? He couldn't count the days off hand, but he knew that it had been too long.

He glanced at Fawkes, and the phoenix stared back at him with bright eyes. Sad eyes. Were those tears that Remus saw, or was he imagining things? Slowly, he rose and walked over to where Fawkes perched on the back of a burgundy armchair he'd inherited from Dumbledore.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch the brilliantly colored feathers. Fawkes leaned into his touch, but remained quiet, only staring at Remus with those sad eyes.

"Is it that we're drifting apart?" Remus whispered. "Only slightly…but does it matter? Is that why you won't reform the Circle?"

The guess had been a shot in the dark, but Fawkes looked away. There was something…but no. Remus was close, but not close enough. Sighing, he sank down into the armchair. He looked up at the phoenix pleadingly. "Then why?"

Fawkes only stared back, and Remus wished that the bird could talk. All he knew, all he could be sure of, was that something was wrong, and his friends were a part of it. An important part. Yet something was missing, and he could not tell what. There had to be a logical reason behind this. Suddenly, a lump formed in Remus' throat, but he could not voice the next question. He could not bear to, especially if the answer was yes. _Is it Sirius?_

His appointment with James and Peter, he decided, would have to come just a little bit earlier than anticipated.

--------------

"It's not like them to be late," Lily commented quietly, struggling not to bite her lip. It was hard to appear calm, but she had to. She was the leader of the Unicorn Group, and if she started pacing around the room like she wanted to, the others would recognize the sick feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.

"I could try Fire Calling them again," Molly said quickly. Too quickly. She was worried, too.

Evidentially, Lily wasn't the only one feeling the pressure. Auriga Sinistra was chewing on her nails, Molly was knitting some maroon sweater-shaped object furiously, Jack Pieters was reading page 699 of _Government and Bloodshed: A Political Comparison in the Modern Magical World_ for the twelfth time, and Ted Tonks was halfway through the bowl of carrots that he'd only started eating ten minutes earlier. Even Jason Montague couldn't concentrate on the card game he'd been playing—every few seconds, he would glance up at the (Muggle) clock on the wall and frown. For her part, Lily was just trying not to fidget, but it was impossible to hide how long she'd been staring at that same clock.

Thirty-five minutes, to be exact, and she was beyond worrying.

Nicholas Flamel might have been eccentric, unpredictable, and possessing a strange and sometimes low sense of humor, but he was nothing if not punctual. He and Perenelle were, in fact, usually the first or second to arrive for Unicorn Group meetings, but not today. Today, even the usually-last and almost late Auriga had beaten the Flamels to the small Muggle house that the Unicorn Group called home, even though she'd scraped in just seconds before the meeting was scheduled to take place. Everyone had laughed when they'd realized that the Flamels were late, but time kept ticking by.

The worst part was waiting. Fire Calls to Stone Grove went unanswered, even by a house elf. There was simply…nothing. Emptiness. Even a Messenger Spell had come flying back in Lily's face without result.

She bit her lip, and tried to come up with a logical reason for the Flamels to be late. It didn't work.

Thus, the entire group breathed a huge sigh of relief when Perenelle Apparated right into the center of the room, missing the table (which Ted had moved to the left earlier by running into it) by mere inches. The older woman staggered, however, almost collapsing into Auriga's lap before catching herself. By then, everyone had gotten a good look at her pale and _bruised_ face, and they knew that their relief had been premature.

"What happened?" Jack demanded even as Lily shot to her feet.

"Where's Nicholas?" she asked breathlessly, dreading the worst.

"Gone," Perenelle whispered hoarsely, and Auriga shot to her feet and helped the old witch into a chair. Never before had Perenelle looked every bit of her five-plus centuries of age, but she looked positively ancient now. "They…the Death Eaters"—she sucked in a ragged breath and calmed herself—"They've destroyed Stone Grove. I was caught under rubble…"

She blinked away tears and shook her head angrily. "I think they thought I was dead," Perenelle continued more levelly. "But Nicholas was gone."

"Perenelle, I'm so sorry…" Auriga wrapped her arms around the older woman, and the others closed in around her, offering support in any way they could. None of them could really understand what it was like to lose a man whom you had lived with for the better part of five centuries, but they all had known loss. And one common desire burned in every heart of those present: revenge.

They were going to get him back, no matter what the cost.

--------------

"It's about time," Bellatrix remarked acidly, turning to glare at him as he walked into the door, allowing his small knot of followers to bring the bundle in behind him. They quailed. He didn't.

"About time for what?" Severus retorted, arching an eyebrow at the darkly beautiful cousin of Sirius Black. Her lips curled up in a snarl.

"About time you _arrived, _pet," she snapped. "We've been awaiting you."

"You are not my Master, and any favors I do for you, I do by his bidding," Severus reminded her coldly. "I have delivered your guest May I assume you will be transporting him to Azkaban yourself, or do you need _assistance_?"

"I am perfectly capable of taking one old man to Azkaban!"

"Of course you are," he purred, rejoicing in the fact that he'd gotten under her sink. Bellatrix had always been so superior, so arrogant, that it felt good to do so. He was no underling of hers, no minor Death Eater to cower the way his five companions were doing. They were the newest of the fold, of course, thoroughly cowed by the Severus Snapes and Bellatrix Lestranges of the world. But he was another matter, even with her.

"You're one to speak, _pet_," she snapped pointedly.

He sneered. "That is the second time you have attempted to insult me by using an ill-placed term of endearment, Bellatrix," Snape retorted smoothly. "If I did not know better, I would think you were less than satisfied with your marriage."

_Not like you'd turn to me for that purpose, anyway._ But Rodolphus bristled anyway, and Bella's blue eyes flashed.

"You would only hope," she shot back, rather juvenilely, in Snape's opinion. He laughed, turning to his new recruits.

"Put him over there."

Quickly, they moved to comply, and Severus couldn't help noticing the difference between the Blackwood twins. While Martha seemed to relish her newfound power, even over an unconscious and helpless old man, Osborne seemed less enthused. Perhaps he simply didn't want to dirty his hands.

"Ignore me all you want, Severus," Bellatrix purred, her composure regained. "_I _am not the Dark Lord's golden child, to be protected at all costs."

Despite himself, he bristled. He had always hated the implication that he might _ever _need protecting, but she was almost right. Almost. "You know the reasons for that."

"Oh, of course. The _debt _he owes you for saving his life." She chuckled, opening her eyes wide and innocently. "But I wonder what other reasons there might be…?"

The poor fool. She'd left him an opening. Severus sneered.

"Unlike you, Bellatrix, I do not prosper by whoring myself. Nor would I enjoy such a…pastime."

The glasses on the far right shelf exploded as she screeched in fury, and the couch burst into flames. "GET OUT!"

"Gladly," he replied, and offered her a mocking bow. Snape had never particularly liked the old Riddle House, anyway.

--------------

Traditionally, they held this lunch. Every class had done it, no matter where they were trained. Just this one time, this one last time, the class of 4904 would share a meal, and although this meal was different from its predecessors in many ways, it was also much the same. Students sat separate from the Mentors for what might be the last time in months—for the time was coming that they would live, sleep, eat, and breathe in close proximity to their Mentor—joking with friends and trying to recover from their semi-numbed states of shock. They had passed the final hurdle. They were sitting in the Auror's hall, no longer eating like separated trainees. And the others welcomed them as brothers and sisters in a battle that they still might not win.

Tonks glanced around the smallish room. "Hall" wasn't quite an appropriate term for the place; it was sufficiently grand, with high white ceilings and pillars lining the walls, but there was little resemblance to the great halls in castles of old. This room was too small, too cramped, too…personal. She liked it.

"Excited, Jason?" she asked lightly, turning to her left. Somehow, she'd ended up next to Clearwater, and while she didn't know how, it was nice to see that section four could stand together one last time.

Something dark glittered in his eyes, but he smiled. "Yes." Very precisely, Jason set his fork down. "I am."

"Are you alright?" Dana asked from across from Tonks; she was always the perceptive one, tuned into others' feelings and acting as the glue that held section four together.

"I'm fine," Jason replied. "I'd just like to stop wasting time and get on with training."

The others frowned, and Cornelia spoke, shaking her dark hair out of her eyes. "Jason, it's just lunch."

He forced a smile. "I know. It's just…" He shrugged, trailing off. Surprisingly, Horace finished the sentence for him.

"Your family," the other Auror said quietly. "You want to avenge them."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Jason demanded, his eyes flashing.

"No," Horace replied hesitantly, clearly warring between stating his beliefs and understanding a friends' pain.

"And yes," Cornelia added softly. "You can't let this rule you, Jason."

Clearwater snorted. "What do you know about pain?"

Cornelia's eyes narrowed, but she only sighed. "I won't argue with you."

"Besides, revenge is not what Aurors are about," Tonks added after a moment, searching for the right words, but unable to find them. "We protect people, not…"

"Like my family. Who was there for _them?_"

Thankfully, as angry as he was, Jason had not shouted. Still, heads at nearby tables turned, but everyone looked away quickly enough. They understood like no one else would, and the Aurors carried with them a collective guilt for not saving the Clearwaters. No one knew what more they could have done, but something…something could have changed things, and then Jason would not have become the vengeful monster he seemed poised on the edge of becoming. Yet…he wasn't. Not a monster, anyway. Not yet.

Tonks swallowed, hating herself for even thinking the thought. _Jason might be_ _arrogant, bold, and obnoxious, but he believes in the same things we do, _she reminded herself. _And he's been hurt greatly. It's only natural for him to want revenge._

Yet another thought nagged at the corner of her mind, and Tonks remembered her cousin's earlier words. _"We have held the line, and defeated the forces of darkness even when they stood at their strongest."_ Without meaning to, her eyes traveled to look at Sirius, and the question rose unbidden in her mind. _Can we continue to hold that darkness at bay if we become what they are?_ Jason, she was sure, would not cross that line. He might come close…but never across. But would someone else?

Horace's elbow dug into her side, dragging Tonks free of her darker thoughts. She shot him a quick smile, turning back to Jason as Dana spoke. "I know that we failed them, Jason," she said softly. "We, as Aurors, should have known to protect them. But we can't change the past. All we can do is make sure that no one else suffers as you have, and no more innocent families die."

"Fat chance," Calvin Waters mumbled from down the table, eavesdropping as usual. They ignored him as Jason sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

"I know that killing Death Eaters won't bring them back," he admitted grudgingly. "I just want closure. I want this to end." Danger rose in his eyes. "And I want to protect my sister from the same fate."

Dana reached across the table to lay a hand on his arm. "And you won't have to do so alone. We—"

_Clink. Clink. _The light sound of a spoon being tapped against the side of a wineglass silenced everyone, and Tonks looked up at the table farthest to her left. Her cousin was standing, now, and ignoring a pointed and rather angry look from Adam Macmillan. _Wonder what's going on there,_ she thought with half a mind, distracted enough not to really care. Few noticed the look at all.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if I might have your attention." Sirius' face twisted into an ironic smile as if he knew that he already had said attention and was simply saying the words. "We of the Aurors have never put much stock in tradition—in fact, we are usually the ones who defy convention and expectations. However, for over two thousand years, the same toast has been given to risen Aurors, and I only feel it right to do so now." Slowly and gracefully, he lifted his wineglass, and the white wine sparkled as sun poured through the skylights.

"To the light."

As one, the Aurors rose, and Tonks felt a strange power thrill behind their words. "To the light!"

Then came a noise, low and rumbling, that felt like it shook the entire villa. It sounded almost like a drum coming from the depths of the earth, pitched so low that it made Tonks' innards shake. Like the others, she glanced about herself quickly, trying to figure out where the strange noise came from—until she noticed the suddenly pale faces of both Longbottoms and Francine Hoyt. Something was wrong, and Sirius' smile had disappeared.

"There is another tradition, brothers and sisters, which the Aurors always remember," he said grimly. "And that is the result of that toast: should a traitor speak the words, _we shall know._" Fire burned in his blue eyes, yet his voice remained low. "And thus a traitor has."

Other faces at that far left table had gone pale, and Tonks heard her fellows murmuring in surprise. A _traitor_? Impossible! Yet her mind was brought back to that night she and Horace had seen someone testing the wards. Longbottom had tried to dismiss her worries, but now the pieces started falling into place. Her eyes started flashing around the room as if they had a life of their own, and Tonks' mind raced. There had to be someone—that magic had felt too real to lie. But who?

Even the senior Aurors were whispering amongst themselves—all except Sirius, who still stood at the center of the table, stone faced and cool. Slowly, the volume level began to rise, and Tonks saw former candidates casting suspicious glances at their new comrades. The sight made her want to scream, and she had to gulp back the urge to shout. _This is going to drive us apart! _Tonks bit her lip. _Doesn't he see that now wasn't the time to raise this point? When we don't know who it might be, everyone is suspect, and—_

Adam Macmillan was bristling under Sirius' gaze. "Why are you staring at me?" he demanded angrily, as pale as his comrades. To his right, Jessica Avery shot him a strange look.

"I think you know, Adam," was the soft reply.

"I—" Suddenly, Macmillan was in motion, leaping out of his chair and twisting for the door. But Sirius seemed to move at the exact same moment, bounding around the table on the other Auror's heels. His reaction had been too fast for eyes to follow, but Macmillan seemed to expect it, and threw Avery right in Sirius' path.

Tonks' cousin swore as he collided with the auburn haired Auror, but Avery twisted quickly, bouncing off of the table's edge and dropping to the floor in an obvious effort to clear Sirius' path.

Others were moving, too. Frank and Alice Longbottom had jumped to their feet, Alice shooting a stunning spell at Macmillan that missed and struck Simon Edgecombe instead. Tonks' own Mentor, Bill Weasley, jumped over Frank's chair as it sailed in his direction, dodging right around Oscar Whitenack as they both ran around the far end of the table. From the next table, Striker Williamson and Derek Dawlish both grabbed for Macmillan as he passed, but each missed by inches. Christa Gambledon came closer still, but it was Francine Hoyt's Stunner that glanced off Macmillan's left side.

Sirius was in motion again, but Macmillan was fast. Despite the stumble the Stunner caused, he was able to reach out a hand to catch himself—right in June Whitenack's blonde hair. She yelped in surprise and pain, but Macmillan had his balance by then, and dragged his future student out of her seat, twisting her around so that she shielded him from the others. Quickly, he backed up several steps, holding his wand at her throat.

"Move," he panted, "and I will kill her."

Every Auror in the hall had frozen, including their leader. Fury and worry played across every face, tightening features and exposing teeth in soundless snarls, but no one dared move. Only Sirius seemed impassively cold, and his blue eyes were focused uncannily on Macmillan.

"Do you think," he asked quietly, "that threatening her life will save your own?"

Macmillan laughed. "I know you won't sacrifice her," he sneered. "You aren't strong enough."

Sirius only raised one eyebrow, standing loosely with his hands held away from his body. Almost every eye was on him or Macmillan, but Tonks was watching June's frightened eyes. She was in control of herself, but she didn't look as if she had any hope. _But why not? _Tonks wanted to ask, but never got the chance. Why June did not fight back, she would never know—nor would she know what it was that Macmillan saw in Sirius' face that pushed him over the edge.

Alice Longbottom started to speak just as it began. "Adam, you—"

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

Someone screamed.

Green light flashed.

June crumbled.

Even before her body hit the floor, her Mentor turned and sprinted away. He had the distinct advantage of being much closer to the doors than anyone else, and Stunned Randall O'Keely when the redhead tried to jump in his way. But Randall never had a chance to act; Macmillan had the superb reflexes of veteran Auror and a strong head start. Randall had graduated at the bottom of their class and was the slowest of them all.

Sirius, however, was far faster. Even as Macmillan bolted out the doors, he rushed across the hall, with almost every other Auror on his heels. Quickly coming out of their shock, the newest Aurors followed, with many baying furiously for vengeance. Macmillan had gone beyond the pale. He'd killed one of their own, someone he'd been responsible for, and there was no question now who the traitor was. Fleetingly, Tonks wondered how Sirius had known, but perhaps it had been that angry look from Macmillan just moments before the toast. _Or—_she cut herself off in mid thought, racing to catch up with her classmates. _Impossible._

They pounded across the grass, and Tonks quickly realized that Macmillan was heading for the Emergency Apparation Center. Would the doors admit him? She suddenly felt cold. Of course they would. They had before.

Someone was shouting furiously at Macmillan, and it took her a moment to recognize Hestia Jones' voice. For a split second, it looked as if the traitor missed a stride; he stumbled ever so slightly, but then regained balance without ever looking back. Jones cursed violently at his back, but Macmillan shouted a spell instead of replying, and the stone doors to EmergApp flew open.

Sirius was ahead of the others, but he wasn't close enough. Macmillan dove through the doors just as they started to slide shut once again, and Tonks' cousin slowed. Very calmly, he dropped to a jog and then a halt, even as all of the Aurors rushed around him to cast unlocking, unsealing, disintegration, wall crumbling, and Reductor curses at the doors. Nothing worked, and within seconds, Sirius' voice rang above their frustrated efforts.

"Let him go." The power in the words astounded her. "Let him run. And let us remember that even the best men and women can be turned."

Silence and pale faces greeted his words, and someone threw a halfhearted spell against the resisting doors in response. Surprisingly, the doors slid open without protest, but by then Macmillan was gone. Jones swore again, pain and betrayal on her face.

"Should we follow?" someone asked.

Sirius shook his head. "Not now."

"But what if _he_ comes here?" Calvin demanded, clearly meaning someone far more powerful than Adam Macmillan.

But Sirius smiled. "Let him try."

--------------

A few hours later, Tonks watched him crouch down inside the Emergency Apparation Center, studying the ground through distant eyes. Her mentor had been delayed by a Fire Call with his family, and she was waiting for Bill (it still felt strange to call him that) before leaving the island as an Auror. Typically, Tonks had wandered a little away from the Main Villa, mostly watching the trees, listening to the birds sing, and trying not to trip over her own two feet. She hadn't expected to see her cousin within the now-restricted EmergApp, but as she watched him, a chill ran down her spine.

"What are you doing?" she asked, somehow certain that he knew she was there.

"Searching." Sirius rose and turned to face her, walking slowly. He seemed more tired than the others, yet less angry at what Macmillan had done, and Tonks found that to be a strange combination.

"For what?"

Odd how he didn't much seem like the Sirius Black she'd remembered from childhood. That cousin had been a happy and joking man, rarely serious even after he'd become an Auror. Sometimes, however, he had proven surprisingly thoughtful, always bringing a young Tonks presents of some sort, and cheering her up after her Aunt Bellatrix and Aunt Narcissa snubbed her. He had been her hero as a child, and Tonks had chosen to become an Auror in part because of what had happened to him. She'd grown up as the runt of the Black nest, but _he _was the outcast, and Sirius had proven that one did not have to follow the rules to get along.

But now—now the smile was grim, and the laughter had faded. The easygoing and dashing man she had grown up admiring had become coolly handsome, and while his capabilities had not faded, his charm seemed to have. One of the things Tonks had most vividly remembered about Sirius was that he had been so alive, so _real_, compared to the rest of her family. Now, though, his brightness seemed to have faded, and she wondered why.

"Answers," he replied, shrugging. Sirius stepped outside of EmergApp, and gestured slightly with his wand. The doors slid shut behind him.

"Like where he ran to?" Tonks normally wouldn't have pressed, but he didn't seem to mind.

Sirius chuckled. "No. I know he went to Azkaban." His eyes darkened. "I was searching for _why_."

"Can you tell?" Something deep was at work there, she suddenly realized, looking into his eyes. He _was _as angry as the others; Sirius just faced that anger in a different manner. His once-explosive temper had been repressed and turned into…what?

"No," he said softly. "Not enough."

_And how _would _he have been able to tell? _Tonks asked herself irritably. Even a fool knew that the residual magic left over from Apparation left slight clues to the suspect's destination, but there was no way that someone could deduce intentions simply from that. Besides, only very practiced witches and wizards could pinpoint where someone had gone; even though Aurors were trained to do so, few mastered the talent. Tonks wasn't very good at it herself, but apparently her cousin was.

"Oh." She must have sounded disappointed, because he glanced at her sidelong.

"We'll find him, Tonks," Sirius said, smiling slightly. And the smile was the same, if muted somehow. "Eventually. I suspect he might even find us."

She sighed, not yet willing to contemplate the affects of having a traitorous Auror on the loose. "But that doesn't tell us why."

Sirius was silent for a long moment, and for a moment Tonks didn't even think he'd heard her. But then he spoke softly. "I fear that the answer lies in Azkaban." His eyes were distant, and something lurked behind the shadows. "And that even the best of us can break."

_Break. _The word hung in the air between them, and Tonks almost wondered why he had used it. There was something eerie in his tone, something regretful and knowledgeable all at the same time. Had he ever crossed that line? Tonks did not know, and doubted that she ever would. Still, Sirius had seen hell—he had looked into darkness, and had seen something. The emptiness in his eyes was not that of a normal man, and Tonks suddenly wished that she could reach out to him…or that _someone _would. She had been wrong to think about how much Sirius had changed. He had not changed. Sirius was changing before her eyes.

His right hand rested hesitantly on his left forearm, but Tonks was sure that he didn't realize she noticed. Instead, he nodded absently to her and swept by, heading towards the lake and away from the others.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: So, here we go. Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Seven: (Heroes) And Ordinary Men, otherwise known as Why Slytherins and Gryffindors Do Not Work And Play Well With (Each)Others.


	37. Chapter 37: Heroes And Ordinary Men

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Seven: (Heroes) And Ordinary Men_

"You know…" Bellatrix purred. "The nice thing about immortality is that it gives you _all the time in the world _to play."

Flamel coughed up blood, but the fool had the sense not to reply. In response, the black-haired Death Eater crouched next to his head and brushed the blood out of his eyes. She smiled gently, insofar as much as a monster could smile gently.

"Of course, in your case 'time' is negotiable, isn't it? How long does your elixir last, Nicholas dear?"

Pain-filled eyes blazed. "Not long enough for your purposes."

"Oh, what _courage!_" Bellatrix laughed, leaping up from her crouch like a little child offered ice cream and cake. Merrily, she spun around to face her companion. "What do you think, Martha? Do you think he's bluffing?"

Blackwood shrugged, sharing little of her colleague's headache-inducing enthusiasm. "I think there are ways to find out," she replied with a cool smile.

"Oh, yes." The senior Death Eater patted Flamel's cheek. "Did you know, Nicholas _darling_, that Martha here was almost barred from practicing magical medicine because she developed several…_interesting _truth potions? It seems that while the Ministry was searching for an alternative to Veritaserum, they were unwilling to accept certain…side affects."

She giggled again, but Martha stepped forward before Bellatrix could continue. While she could not fault the other witch's ability to force information out of resisting prisoners, Bellatrix's methods were incredibly annoying. _If I have to listen to her insane giggle one more time…_

"The Dark Lord," Martha put in, "is not nearly so discriminating."

Bellatrix snickered, and the sound was no less infuriating than her giggle. Martha was ready to hex her, and just wished that she'd go away, but Flamel's pain-racked comment startled them both.

"No surprise, that," he wheezed.

_"Crucio!"_Bellatrix retorted, and the old man screamed. Martha rolled her eyes at her comrade's blatant lack of creativity. _Really.__ You would think someone as bright as Bellatrix would have done research into the Wizarding World's older torture methods, and know that there are _much _better things to use…_ She sighed, shrugging the thoughts away. _Her time locked up in here must have really addled her brain._

Only a few seconds passed before Flamel sunk into unconsciousness, and the newer Death Eater held back a laugh when Bellatrix made a strangled noise of exasperation. _Serves you right!_ she thought.

"Perhaps I ought to administer a Longevity Drought," she said diplomatically.

"Definitely." Bellatrix sneered. "Apparently, immortality hasn't improved his stamina one bit."

"Age will do that," Martha reminded her. "And he is over six centuries old."

"Just get to work," the other snapped. "And don't take as long with him as you did with the Jordan brat."

Martha bit back the reply that comment so richly deserved; baiting Bella Lestrange was _not _a good way to succeed amongst the Dark Lord's followers, especially with how much their Lord seemed to favor the witch. "I do not recall you arguing with my results."

"Not yet I haven't."

With that, Bellatrix spun on her heel and exited the Interrogation Chamber, slamming the door shut behind her. Martha did not bother to watch—she could hear the sharp _crack _of the door shutting without having to witness a mobile temper tantrum. Instead, the healer-turned-Death Eater strolled over to the rack of potions ingredients against the far wall. The nice thing about having transferred Flamel to Azkaban from the Riddle House was the permanence of the surroundings; Aurors certainly weren't dropping in to 'spy' on them here! Of course, she wasn't nearly as taken with the prison's atmosphere as the Riddle House, but Martha supposed that her fate could have been a lot worse. While she'd never liked Dementors, she strongly suspected that the Aurors would have had even nastier plans for her if she hadn't been warned by one of her colleagues that James Potter's Mudblood wife was looking for her.

Thankfully, there were enough people with sense left in the world to figure out which side was going to win.

--------------

"I've been thinking," Auriga Sinistra bit her lip and glanced at Lily across the table. Unexpectedly, Hogwarts' Astronomy Professor had asked Lily to meet her at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, and the head of the Unicorn Group had rushed to get there on time. Auriga was not the impulsive type, and if she'd wanted a meeting, it was important.

"About Nicholas?" Lily prompted gently, and Auriga nodded. "So have I."

"I gave a test to my second years yesterday," the other replied somewhat distracted, then blinked. "Sorry. But it gave me time to think… I know we can't breach Azkaban. It's been tried so many times, and…" She trailed off. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Yeah."

Auriga bit her lip again before continuing, "Anyway, it occurred to me that we could try Reverse-Apparation."

"It's never worked on a human before," Lily replied immediately.

"We've never tried it on a human before," her friend corrected her. "And I'm sure that Perenelle has something with enough of Nicholas' 'signature' on it for us to use."

Lily let out a deep breath, thinking fast. "You're probably right that we can't get into Azkaban," she said slowly. "At least not without help…"

"But we've only got two weeks."

"I know." Lily closed her eyes for a moment, trying to look at the problem in a dispassionate manner but failing. It was always so much harder to do so when the prisoner in question was a friend. She swallowed. _Especially when that friend is dependant upon the Elixir to live and will die without it after two weeks._ The next words rose unbidden, and she hated herself for what had to be said. "We might have even less time if he…"

"Breaks," Auriga finished. "I know. V-Voldemort has always wanted immortality, and Nicholas knows the key. Even Perenelle doesn't know how to recreate the Stone, but Nicholas could. We both know that he never forgets anything, and if they can force him to show them how…it's all over."

Lily nodded shakily. "We need to get Perenelle in on this."

--------------

"I can't believe you did not tell me," her mother managed with infinite dignity. Tonks _knew _that her mother was holding onto her temper by a thread, but it was impossible to tell. _She's _always _been able to do that, _the young Auror thought with exasperation. _And she's always been able to make it look like I'm the one who's wrong!_

"I did tell you, Mum," she replied as levelly as she could—which was a good deal more levelly than she would have sounded before Auror training. "I wrote you a letter."

_"In August!"_Andromeda exploded. "Two _months _after you started training!"

Tonks swallowed and looked to her father for help, but he just shook his head. _Thanks, Dad, _she thought irritably. _Is this another one of those 'life lessons' I'm supposed to be learning?_ Meanwhile, her mother continued, having hit full stride and fury.

"And you told your father, yet you did not trust me far enough to do so," she snarled, clearly reining her temper in but becoming no less angry. "Instead, you _lied _to me and claimed you were working at Gringotts."

"Well, Mum, I really didn't _lie_…" Tonks started, then trailed off. Pointing out that she hadn't told an actual lie (she simply hadn't told her mother that she had changed jobs) wasn't a good idea at all. She sighed. "I didn't want you to stop me."

"Do you think I would have?" her mother demanded sharply.

"Yes!" She finally exploded. "You would have, and don't you dare tell me you wouldn't!" Tonks was on her feet, and she knew she shouldn't be, but it was hard to care. "You would have told me that _you _knew better than I did, no matter what I knew was right, and that I had too much to worry about and shouldn't make our family a target!"

"And now you have," Andromeda snarled. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Droma!" her father yelled, shocked, but Tonks rode right over him.

"We already _were _a target, Mum! How could we not be?" she retorted. "I remember _Auntie Bella _swearing that she'd kill Dad when I was three years old, and Aunt Narcissa saying that I wasn't _worthy _because I'm not pureblooded! D'you think they'll ignore us forever?"

"I—"

She never gave her mother the chance to answer. "And even if they do, do we deserve to be ignored? Should we hide just because we _can, _or should we try to make all the difference possible?"

Abruptly, Tonks bit her tongue, suddenly aware that her mother, father, and little brother were staring at her like they'd never seen her before. _Poor Pat, _she thought to herself. _He really shouldn't have to be here for this. And poor Dad. He takes a Saturday afternoon off of work to see me, and I spend all the time screaming at Mum._ But she wasn't really sorry. She wasn't sorry at all.

"You sound remarkably like Sirius," her mother said softly. "Like he always has."

"Maybe he's right," Tonks replied, trying to sound as reasonable as she could.

"Maybe. I know your father thinks so." Andromeda cast a sideways look at her husband, then suddenly reached out and put a hand on Tonks' shoulder. "Nymphadora, we have tried to raise you to be independent and think for yourself…and to know the difference between right and wrong. I suppose that I should not argue when you display those traits."

It was hard to smile instead of grimacing when her mother used _that _name, but she managed. "Thanks, Mum."

Andromeda sighed. "I can't say I agree with your methods. There are other ways, less obvious ways, to fight back, to 'make a difference.' But…I suppose that if this is what you want to do, we—_I—_ought to support you. Instead of yelling at you."

"I really shouldn't have yelled back, either," Tonks admitted sheepishly, then grinned, glancing at her younger brother. "Don't get any ideas, Pat. Mum'll eat you alive."

They all laughed together, and within seconds, the moment had passed. The Tonks' had always been such a close family, especially since they'd been so isolated from the rest of their world, and it had hurt to know how angry her mother was. _I guess Bill was right_, Tonks thought. _Coming home is good for the soul._

--------------

"I don't need a bodyguard!" Peter snapped, and James tried hard not to laugh. The two had gotten together to discuss last minute preparations for Peter's final trip to France, but James had (typically) thrown a wrench into the works.

"Yes, and that Death Eater lying in the gutter is dead because he wanted to give you a cookie!" Hestia Jones snarled back before James could answer. For a moment, he was tempted to intervene, but then he decided not to. The fiery Auror had been lucky to run into Peter when they'd both been on their way in, and had saved his life in result. _At least that's a good beginning, _he thought behind a twisted attempt not to grin.

"I—" Poor Peter was overmatched.

"You're a target, Pettigrew! Get that through your thick head!" Hestia overrode him.

"You didn't have to kill him." Peter frowned sullenly.

"I know that. But I wasn't trained to take chances." To her right, Clearwater nodded, and James wondered what kind of dangerous combination those two would turn out to be. Today, it had been Hestia who'd killed the single assassin who had been on Peter's tail, but tomorrow…?

The bad news was that neither of them seemed to have noticed the significance of this attempt. James cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but…" He forced a slight smile. "You know, Peter, that she's probably right."

"I don't need a bodyguard," his friend repeated stubbornly, making James' eyebrows rise slightly. Years before, the frightened boy Peter had been would have jumped at the chance to be protected…but he had changed. He'd grown, and the Gryffindor courage that his friends had always known was within him was now there for all the world to see.

"I disagree. We've always known that it's only going to be a matter of time before Voldemort came after you again—you've betrayed him and lived, and he can't tolerate that," he replied bluntly, looking his friend in the eyes. "The last thing we need is for him to target you when you're in France, Wormtail. Here, you've got us to turn to, but there…"

Peter's shoulders slumped slightly. "I know. But I don't like having to be protected."

James snickered. "I think that Sirius and I have rubbed off on you, mate!"

"Yeah, I guess you have," Peter smiled lopsidedly, then glanced at Jones. "Are you always like this?" he demanded.

James sputtered out a laugh as Hestia's eyes grew to the size of ultra-large cauldrons.

"What?" she yelped.

"Always so blunt and obnoxious," Peter replied easily.

Clearwater looked ready to die. "Now, wait a minute—"

Hestia burst out laughing. "Oh, don't bother," she told her protégée, then glanced at Peter narrowly. "You know, Pettigrew, maybe you've got more courage than I thought."

"I'll need it to deal with you," Peter shot back.

James howled with laughter.

--------------

The letter had only said "_I need your help,_" so he had gone. Out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. The fact that any senior member of the Fourteen would request assistance from _anyone_, even one of their fellows, in such a bald and boldfaced manner was bound to get his attention, even if he did hate the wizard in question.

That was how he'd found himself standing in a deserted clearing, just ten feet away from a crater he would rather pretend did not exist. _Of all the warped senses of decency in this world, I do believe his is the worst_, Snape thought bitterly. _Does he have no senses at all?_ Of course, he had known the answer to that question since he was eleven years old. Sirius Black did not have any sense. Severus knew that as naturally as he knew how to breathe.

He should just go home. Well, to Hogwarts, but Hogwarts was home. There was a gigantic stack of papers on his desk waiting to be graded, and he'd be up all night with them if this little _meeting _did not end promptly. Or if the idiot he was meant to meet ever even showed up, that was—he ground his teeth in frustration. _Why did I even bother? He probably thinks this is just some cosmic _prank_ or another. Bastard._

Still, even Black's pride ought to prevent him from trying this kind of prank. _I need your help_, the letter had started. There'd been nothing else other than the meeting place, right next to the ruins of the old Country House. Was there meant to be a message in that? Black had never been known for his subtlety, but he'd never been stupid. If this was meant to be a message, it was a damn clumsy one, but the point was made. And the place _was _quiet.

_Damn you, Black. Won't you hurry up?_

Severus resisted the urge to growl and settled in for a long wait. Had he been feeling particularly honest (a rare trait for him to exhibit outside his own mind), he couldhave admitted that this wasn't entirely Black's fault. He shouldn't have bothered showing up early—Black was on _his _side, for crying out loud! Instinctive paranoia had insisted that this had to be a trap, but the location of the Country House was only known to the members of the Inner Circle…and to Voldemort. He grimaced. _Was _there a message here?

"Bastard," he whispered out loud, more at the universe than at Sirius Black, but neither answered.

--------------

Two days of preparation later, the Unicorn Group was finally ready to proceed. Every moment had grated upon them, and they'd hurried in every way they could, but some things simply couldn't be rushed, and they _had _to do this at night. Any other time, someone was bound to be watching Nicholas, and if the Reverse Apparation process started before a Death Eater's eyes, one of them might have the wit and the reflexes to stop it. It was possible, after all. In fact, doing so was rather easy, which was the major drawback to the spell.

But Nicholas had been in Azkaban for four days now, and that was four days too long. Every minute of each was engraved into Perenelle's face, too, even though she was desperately trying to lock the pain and worry away. _That's the problem with friends, _Lily thought distractedly. _We always see what you try to hide._

She took a deep breath. "Is everyone ready?"

Shaky and/or emphatic nods greeted her words, but each expression was equally grim. Dark circles ringed eyes, but the pain and regret on every face did not change the necessity of what had to be done. Nor did it make them less ready—the Unicorn Group might have been intended for research purposes, but its members were multi-talented witches and wizards. If anyone could pull this off, squeaking through Azkaban's defenses to do it, they could.

_And that's the real beauty of the spell, _Lily thought, trying to distract herself while Perenelle made the final preparations. _Anti-Apparation wards do not matter, so long as the person being Reverse-Apparated has an emotional or physical connection to the caster. _In fact, the Unicorn Group's creation was almost more of a relocation spell than an Apparation spell; it used more concepts from relocation than anything else, which was why any sane witch or wizard would not even think about using it on a human being. But it had worked with Auriga across London and Perenelle doing the Apparating.

Lily only prayed that their luck held.

"I am ready." Perenelle spoke quietly, but her voice was tight. Lily reached out to squeeze the older woman's arm momentarily, then let go. It was time to get to work.

As one, the Unicorn Group lifted their wands, concentrating on Perenelle Flamel and beyond. Almost any spell could be amplified by additional power if enough people were willing to work together, and the Unicorn Group was not about to take chances with Nicholas' life. They would probably have only one chance at this—if they failed, alarms across Azkaban were likely to be tripped, and Voldemort would certainly figure out a way to block their efforts. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord was every bit as brilliant as he was evil.

Lily let out one last breath. "On three?" she asked Perenelle. But the older woman shook her head.

"No…_now._"

As one, they spoke the simple words: _"Remeum Apparate."_

Lily let her eyes slide shut, feeling the power radiate from their small group. For several moments, nothing happened—she could only sense the spell swirling around them, reaching out, diving into the distance… And then there was nothing. She held her breath, waiting and hoping, but not daring to look. Then she felt a sharp _tug_ and heard Perenelle gasp—

"It's working!" Jason Montague shouted.

Ten seconds. She felt the link form up, could almost feel Nicholas from so far away, could feel his pain and his determination not to break. Yet there was hopelessness in that determination—until he felt the connection, too, and strength poured into the link. _Ten seconds. _All they needed was ten seconds more. Reverse-Apparation was a slower process than Apparation itself, but ten seconds wasn't really all that much time when compared to the grand scheme of the universe. _Let no one be there, _Lily thought desperately. _Let them not see. Let them not realize. _She was still holding her breath.

Another tug.

And then nothing.

The link snapped.

There was a long moment of silence before Ted swore. Lily looked up as he shrugged apologetically, but her attention was stolen by the tears on Perenelle's face. Molly, too, had seen the same thing.

"Let's try again," Molly said firmly, and the others nodded. There wasn't really much of a chance of it working, but they had to try.

The preparations went far quicker this time; they had to, else whomever or whatever had stopped them might catch on. Within seconds, they were ready, and were lifting their wands once more. Perenelle's voice was shaky as she counted down: "One…"

Lily struggled not to hold her breath and to simply concentrate on the moment. On reaching out and forming the required link. _This has to work, _she thought desperately. She didn't want to think about what would happen if it did not.

"Two…"

One by one, they closed their eyes. Lily, however, kept her eyes locked on Perenelle's face, letting the older woman's grief and pain fuel her magic. At this point, any type of strength was useful.

Something flirted on the edge of her consciousness.

"Thr—"

"Whatever you're doing, _stop!_"

The voice came from the fire and made them all jump—Lily hadn't even realized that the fire was actively on the Floo Network today. _Someone else must have connected it before I got here, _she thought with confusion, blinking as she tried to register the face floating in the fire. Molly and Ted had both dropped their wands in surprise, and Jason had jumped to his feet without meaning to. Perenelle had gone strangely pale, and Auriga looked ready to curse someone. That was Sirius' head in the fire.

"Sirius?" Lily and Ted managed at the same time. Yet their minds were still working slowly, still transitioning from reaching outwards to thinking inwards, and—

Something cold and dark rushed out to meet them.

"Stop!"

The link cracked and broke as control overrode shock and everyone withdrew. Together, the Unicorn Group stared at Sirius. "What's wrong with you?" Molly demanded.

"Whatever you were doing, Voldemort knows it," he replied without even bothering to take offense at her angry tone.

"How do you know that?" Jason asked suspiciously.

Suddenly, Sirius' eyes were on Lily. "Ask Lily. She felt it."

"I did," she replied slowly, nodding. "There was something dark…"

"But how did _you _feel it?" Molly picked up when she trailed off. "And where are you?"

"I can't tell you that," Sirius responded immediately. "And I felt it through the Mark."

Instantly, Lily knew that wasn't true. Nor was it exactly a lie, but Sirius wasn't saying _something._ She opened her mouth to object, but he got in first.

"I have to go. Someone's waiting on me." He blinked, then looked Lily in the eyes, seemingly pleading with her not to ask. "But be careful. Please."

And then he was gone.

--------------

"You're late," the acid voice said as he Apparated onto the field where the Country House had once stood. Purposefully, Sirius avoided looking at the crater as he forced a sweet smile in Snape's direction.

"I didn't know you cared," he responded in kind.

"Don't waste your energy on me, Black," the other snapped back. "You might fool your friends, but I can see the darkness within you."

Years ago, he would have argued with the remark, but Sirius knew that he'd changed. He'd also grown up enough to realize that childhood rivalries had no place in the real world, no matter how much hatred lay between them. "Perceptive," he observed.

"I do try."

A moment ticked by in silence while they contemplated one another. Snape seemed to be waiting for Sirius to explain his odd letter, while Sirius was still trying to figure out how. It grated at him to ask Snape for help, especially with _this_, but he knew that it was the only way. _Once you do this, there is no going back, _a voice in his head warned him, but Sirius pushed it away. He was cold inside, and half-terrified of what was to come, but the choice had been made.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, whipping his robes out behind him and throwing hair across his face. By the time he scraped it out of his eyes, Sirius realized that there was something else in there with it—ashes from the now gone Country House. He could feel the black smudge they left across his cheek, and glanced at Snape to see if they'd done the same to him. The Potions Master was busy wiping his face with the sleeve of his robe.

"Why meet here?" Snape demanded. It probably wasn't the question he had intended to ask, but it did serve as an opening. Sirius took a deep breath.

"It's private," he replied. "And quiet."

Snape frowned, his black eyes flashing. "He already knows of this place."

"I know he does. And if he learns what I am doing through you…so be it." Sirius shrugged, then nodded slightly in response to the puzzled look on Snape's face. "He cannot stop me, and he will know soon enough through the link between us."

"Link?" Snape echoed warily.

Silently, Sirius lifted his left arm, letting the long sleeve of his robes fall away to reveal the Mark. A certain tightness entered the Death Eater's features, but recognition flared in Snape's eyes. Sirius knew what he saw. Unlike Snape's Dark Mark, Sirius' still glowed red and angry underneath the black outline, as if there were two layers: one burned in and one carved. The difference was subtle; one who did not bear the Mark would probably never notice. But Snape did.

The Death Eater nodded once. "You asked for my assistance. What would you have me do?"

There was something atypical in his voice, something almost respectful. The sarcasm and venom had faded, perhaps because Snape had turned to the business at hand…but perhaps not. There was an acceptance in the dark eyes Sirius had never seen before, an acknowledgement of pain, of purpose, and of choice. They would always hate one another, but there was an off chance that each might understand the other—someday.

"I need you to brew the Conmalesco Potion for me," Sirius replied, letting his left arm fall. Slowly, he clasped his hands, watching his old enemy's face.

Snape's eyes grew wide, his voice razor-sharp. "What?"

"I know you've brewed it before."

"How?" Snape demanded, his usual coolness gone as a different edge entered his voice. "How do you know?"

"It was the first potion you brewed for Voldemort. Your first test," Sirius responded softly.

"How do you know this?" Snape snarled, and for a moment, Sirius thought he saw fear flicker in the implacable eyes.

"Come with me and I shall show you."

--------------

"Are you certain, Perenelle?" Lily asked softly. "There is still time. We could…"

Gray hair swished from side to side as the ancient witch shook her head, and Lily saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "No," she said softly. "This is the only way."

Lily squeezed her hand, but she knew that the gesture was pointless. Perenelle hadn't just chosen her own death; she would force death upon her husband as well. And while six hundred years might seem to have been a long and full life, Lily knew that human nature would always cause people to crave just a little while longer. Still, Perenelle's voice was even when she continued:

"Long ago, Nicholas and I made a promise. Centuries before Voldemort, or Grindelwald, or any of the terrors you remember, we knew that it might come to this." She took a deep breath, and looked directly into Lily's eyes. "And we promised one another that if one of us were to be caught, with no chance of rescue, this is what we would do."

"You are far braver than I," Lily whispered.

"Far from it, child." Perenelle managed to smile, and it was not very bitter. "I am simply older. I can bear the pain…but like you, I cannot bear the cost."

Lily swallowed, refusing the let the image of an immortal Voldemort ruin the significance of the sacrifice the Flamels were making. "How much Elixir do you have?"

"None that I will drink." Lily stared, and Perenelle smiled again. "Nicholas and I…we shall fade together. We have always known that there is not another way."

"Perenelle…"

"No." The old woman squeezed her hands. "The decision is made, and now we must carry it out. Have you brought the Stone?"

She nodded mutely, removing the Philosopher's Stone from her pocket. This was the only of its kind, Lily knew; in thousands of years of effort, humanity had only produced one Philosopher's Stone. And now there would be none.

They sat in the ruined basement of Stone Grove, the same site where the stone she held had been dreamed of and developed. Where it would now be destroyed.

Hot oil burbled slightly as it boiled in a nearby cauldron. Lily had been shocked to learn that such a common substance could destroy the immortal Philosopher's Stone; the required oil did not have any magical properties at all. Yet boiling oil was the _only _substance capable of destroying the Stone, and Lily was seconds away from throwing it in. She glanced at Perenelle, holding the Stone out in a shaky hand.

"Would you like to…?"

Perenelle pushed Lily's hand away, shaking her head. "Dumbledore trusted you," she said quietly. "As do I…especially with something I would hate to do so much."

_And I don't?_ Lily bit her lip, forcing tears back. The bitter words wanted to rise; she wanted to demand why _she _had to condemn two of her friends to death, but Lily felt she had no right to say them. _If Perenelle can face this, so must I._

"Are you ready?" she whispered, watching the clock.

"I am."

At midnight on 28 September 1992, Lily dropped the Philosopher's Stone into boiling oil. By 12:01 on September 29th, it was gone.

--------------

Other decisions were made, and other fates decided. She was the only one permitted to visit Casa Serpente uninvited, but she would rarely presume to do so. Bella preferred it that way. Thus, the ancient home of Slytherin maintained its lure.

They walked together in the darkness, guided on their way by bright and ancient torches which lined the stone path. There was little moonlight as the new moon slowly grew into itself, but the darkness had always been appropriate. They were creatures of it, after all: creatures of death and darkness.

He was silent as they walked in the towering shadow of his ancestor's statute, but he usually was. Few appreciated the silence of their Lord, recognized the strength which lay behind it, but Bella did. She was simply honored to walk by his side, to share in his greatness. The others did not understand. They wanted to talk, to prattle, to be recognized. They thought he would pay more attention if they annoyed him to death. _To death._Bella suppressed a giggle. It had happened before, and at the rate some of her miserable colleagues were moving, it would happen again.

"Tell me, Bella, what is so _different _about Hogwarts." His soft voice startled her, and she looked up at him attentively. Still they walked.

"I—" She hated not knowing answers, especially when he asked. "I do not know, My Lord," she admitted.

"Of course you do not," he replied dismissively. "No one does." Eloquently, he glanced up at the towering statue of Salazar Slytherin before continuing darkly. "Except one."

Bella hissed. She knew who he meant—Lupin. One of her cousin's friends, one of the ones who made him hold on and hold out for so long. Had she not despised the half-breed already, she would have hated him for _that_, for providing her dear cousin with a reason to fight back. The three of them had done that, she knew, and for that they would have to die.

One by one and piece by piece, if need be, but they would die.

Her Lord was still moving, and she quickened her pace to catch up with him, having fallen a step behind when concentrating on darker thoughts. His steps were graceful and long, but unhurried all the same. Here at Casa Serpente, he was always at peace, always in control. _As he should be_, she thought approvingly. _As he always is._ Still, she frowned slightly. Unlike lower Death Eaters, she was not expected to agree without thought.

"Are you sure that he knows, My Lord?" Bella asked thoughtfully. "Dumbledore did, but…_him_?" She shrugged.

"Oh, he knows." He laughed. "He knows."

The silence stretched between them, and she wondered what he saw.

"Bring me the werewolf, Bella," he commanded. "I want answers."

--------------

"This is Avalon."

Somehow, Sirius wasn't surprised that Snape guessed their location within three seconds of arrival. Anything else would have been disappointing. "Yes."

He stepped forward, already feeling the power swirl around him. Sirius had brought Snape to the Secondary Apparation Center because it was furthest from _everything _on Avalon, situated as it was on the east coast of the island, nearest to the old outbuildings and the Minefield. It was also rather close to the Lab that Sirius had appropriated, but most importantly, it was away from the Main Villa. Sirius trusted and liked Derek Dawlish, and the Longbottoms, but there were some secrets he intended to keep as his own. So, avoiding the current residents of Avalon had become rather high on his list.

_Especially Frank.__ I really don't think he'd take this well_.

Inhale. The doors of each Apparation Center didn't take kindly to darkness, and Severus Snape was, despite his best efforts at change, one of the darkest of the dark. Over the last few weeks, Sirius had become much more aware of the giant stone doors, and he'd realized that they _didn't _take kindly to his Dark Mark—they simply admitted him anyway because he was an Auror. A few hours of thought had brought him to the same conclusion where Adam was concerned; as far as Avalon was concerned, those who had been accepted by the doors would always be accepted. That, of course, had become a problem, but throughout history, not many Aurors had betrayed their fellows. Until Voldemort. _Enough of that, Sirius_, he told himself firmly._ You need to concentrate._

He stretched out his awareness, reaching not only into the doors, but into Avalon itself. The longer Sirius spent on the Aurors' Island, the better he came to know it, and he now understood that Avalon wasn't what everyone thought it was. It was far, far different, and infinitely more powerful that he might have ever guessed.

But it also listened, and the doors slid open to allow them to pass.

"Follow me," he said quietly, turning to Snape. "If you fall back, the doors will crush you."

"Typical," Snape muttered darkly, and Sirius felt the automatic hesitation in his own step. Once, such a remark would have made him stop cold and face Snape, reminding the other not to underestimate Avalon, for the island would know. But now he kept walking, and it was less from a desire to see Snape squished into goo than one to simply get the job done. He did notice, however, that Snape kept close behind him. Irritating though he could be, the man was far from a fool.

They exited SecApp without incident, and Sirius led Snape across the dark fields, skirting close to the abandoned outbuildings (used only for storage now) and keeping clear of the Minefield. Frank and Alice had recently begun reconfiguring the field for the next class of Aurors, and Sirius had no desire to find out whatever nasty surprises they were planning first hand. A very faint light glowed in the distance, more for Snape's benefit than anything else, and it grew larger as they approached Lab Six. Neither spoke until the door closed behind Snape.

"Explain to me, Black, why you have brought me to the Aurors' last haven in order to convince me to brew deadly, not to mention _illegal_, potions."

"Because you're the only one who can," Sirius responded evenly.

"You mean because I am the only one who _has_," the other retorted bitterly, and there was anger in his eyes. Demons, too, but Sirius knew all about them.

"Yes. That, too."

"How do you know?" Snape demanded.

"Because of this." Reaching inside his robes, Sirius held the leather-bound book up in his right hand. Ever since Adam had wandered in on his work just over two weeks ago, Sirius had been careful to carry the journal with him wherever he went. He did not know what the journal would do to someone without the Mark if they attempted to open it, but Sirius _did _know that there were too many possible consequences if the book were to fall into the wrong hands. _Both for me and for whoever takes it._

"A journal."

Sirius nodded mutely, and watched recognition flash across his companion's face. Snape's eyes widened.

"Where did you get that?"

"I don't think you want to know," Sirius replied quietly. "But you are right in thinking that it belonged to Voldemort."

A long moment of silence passed while Snape stared at him, his eyes still the size of a startled owl's. Rarely did the Potions Master lose such control, but his mouth opened slightly, and then closed again, as he struggled to find words to say. Then horror replaced the surprise, and his face tightened.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

He was the only one in the world who had enough information to put the pieces together, and Sirius knew that there was no use lying to him. Instead, he answered simply: "What has to be done."

"You're insane."

Sirius didn't argue with the flat reply. He only nodded. "Possibly," he admitted, slipping the journal back inside his robes. "Will you help me?"

Snape stared. "Why?"

Sirius just looked at him. There weren't words to explain what he needed, wasn't a way to convince Snape to play along with the rank insanity of the path Sirius had chosen to take. There was simply _purpose_, necessity, and years of anger and pain welled up behind the walls built around both men's pasts. Both had made mistakes in their life, and Sirius was about to make another. The only question was: would Snape help him? Those obsidian eyes were unreadable, save for the shock still lurking in their depths. _Does his past horrify him so, or is it my future?_

"The Conmalesco," Snape finally replied, his voice not quite devoid of emotion. "You do realize that the root of "mal" replaces the inner syllable of _convalesco_ expressly to reference the consequences of the potion? Moreover, creating the potion requires a potent act of Dark Magic—"

"I know." He had to cut the lecture off. Sirius' research had told him enough about the potion to know the dangers, and he _knew_ what it would do. Probably better than Snape did, actually, even if Snape had seen the transformation happen over time.

The other man sighed irritably. "I suppose that if you had to pick one of the potions, I _ought _to be relieved that you chose the least dangerous."

"I need all three of them, Severus." Again, he spoke quietly, and Snape's first name had escaped before he realized that he'd spoken. Oddly, it felt natural in the sentence, perhaps because he was asking for help instead of demanding it.

Snape went pale. "Which three?"

_Here's your last chance to back down, Sirius_. A chill raced down his spine, and Sirius had to force back the urge to shiver. But there was no turning back. Not anymore. He had come too far. "The originals."

"You're—"

"Yes."

There was no doubt in Sirius' mind that Snape _wasn't _about to call him insane again. No, the man knew too much.

"You feel that you have to do this." Snape's voice was empty now. "You are certain that there is no other way."

Sirius nodded slowly. "There is no one else who can."

"Then I will brew the potions," the Death Eater replied. "And I will pray that you do not grow into the monster he has become."

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Here we go! I'm hoping to finish the story off by the end of the year, so look for quicker updates in the coming weeks. Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Eight: That Which Others Would Not Be (otherwise known as "That Which Adam Macmillan Strikes Again, Trelaweny Proves Herself to be a Nuisance (Again), and Peter Plays Diplomat While Trying to Fend off Hestia Jones.)


	38. Chapter 38: That Which Others Would Not ...

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

_Chapter Thirty-Eight: That Which Others Would Not Be_

The moment a black and stormy dawn broke over the island, he knew.

In reality, there was no dawn. Just thunder cracking and lighting flashing, sending electricity dancing across the suddenly high seas. Waves smashed into the shore, roaring loud enough to deafen anyone close enough to hear, and even the waters of the lake swirled as if possessed by some giant whirlpool. Still, no rain beat down upon the island, for rain was a natural phenomenon. This wasn't.

He had woken up before the crash, so had taken the time to dress before stepping outside. Alice and Frank Longbottom hadn't been so lucky—both wore hastily-donned robes over plaid pajamas. Alice's feet were bare, but Frank had managed to find mismatched shoes before rushing outside to find that a giant oak tree had collapsed into the roof of the library. Others joined them slowly: Hestia Jones and Jason Clearwater emerged from the Main Villa together, half-dressed and probably almost ready to depart for France; Derek Dawlish in nothing but a pair of torn trousers and looking ready to kill; Oscar Whitenack, still glaring furiously at his new student; and Calvin Waters, that student who had clearly managed to crawl under Oscar's skin one more time.

Sirius was the most decent of them all, because he'd woken up freezing cold and wondering why. Now he knew.

"Why isn't it raining?" Clearwater mused.

"Because this isn't a storm," Frank replied, glancing at Sirius briefly. "Not a natural one, anyway."

Like Sirius, the Senior Candidate Instructor had studied Avalon intensely during the last few months, but he did not have the advantages Sirius possessed. First, Frank did not have time to wander the island and explore, thus learning more than books could tell, and second, he wasn't the head of the Aurors. Sirius was certain that Avalon sensed that in him, and while he wasn't sure if the island _liked _him or not, it seemed willing to work with him. The thought almost occasioned a laugh. _Rather, it isn't working _against _me, _Sirius thought cynically. _I doubt Avalon works _for_ anyone._

Darkness raced up his left arm, dark and cold pain. The world swam before Sirius' eyes, making him sway dizzily before he could catch his balance—and barely avoid grabbing his left wrist in a useless protective gesture. Doing so never helped, and if he missed, Sirius risked causing himself intense pain, but somehow he always wanted to do so anyway.

"What is it?" several voices asked at once. He shook his head, pushing the pain away. There wasn't time for that. If Sirius paused to even think about the agony, he'd probably fail—_it's now or never, _he told himself darkly. He had made the choice; now was the time to act on it. Deep breath.

Sirius straightened, and stretched out for the first time since drinking the Conmalesco Potion three days before. Awareness slammed into him.

And so did power. Power like he had never felt before—exhilarating, sweet, smooth, and electric. It rushed through his body, filling his senses and his soul, wrapping Sirius in a cocoon of security and false invincibility. But how false? There was no way to tell, only power. Sweet and strong power. Experienced though he was, Sirius had never felt this before, and immediately knew that it was an extension of himself that he had never been able to tap into. It was almost as if the power had been trapped on the other side of a wall and simply waiting to be called upon.

He did not see the red flash in his eyes, and nor did the others. It was too dark, and they were too distracted, but Sirius felt the change. He choked back the exhilaration that had risen with the power, forced away the feeling of superiority. There was something dangerous lurking within his grasp, drifting just below the shadows of his consciousness. It had not been there before, but Sirius knew immediately that it would never leave him. _Gaining power, for the sheer sake of power, is without purpose, _his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had said during sixth year. _And thus doing so always has consequences._

Consequences and purpose—Sirius began to understand. But then again, he was intimately familiar with each of them.

"Death Eaters," he answered slowly. "Death Eaters and their lord."

"Voldemort? Voldemort is here?" Waters demanded.

Sirius stared into the distance, past the half-crushed roof of the library, over the swirling lake, and beyond the Old Gates. He shook his head slightly. "They are coming."

"How? How did they know?" Waters gasped, still not thinking clearly. There was fear in the reckless boy's eyes.

"Adam," Hestia Jones growled, and heads turned to face her. She wore the pain and betrayal on her face like a badge of honor, having once loved the man who betrayed them all. Fury danced in her dark eyes. "He told them."

"He leads them," Sirius corrected her, still staring into the distance. He could almost see the shadowy figures as they rode small boats across the waves, _could _feel their vanguard of darkness. There were a dozen Dementors, perhaps more, all formed into a wedge, an honor guard, to escort their Dark Lord.

And there was Adam, shivering at the side of a man he hated more than anything in the world.

_"Stop…" A pitiful gasp. One he had heard before and always ignored. This time he did not._

_"Why?" he asked lightly, waving the Dementor back a step. The fool had been under the potion for barely less than an hour, but as usual, it was tearing him to shreds. Macmillan writhed on the floor as if it would lessen the pain. By now, he should have known that it did not. Still, he could not help himself. One of the first things that the potion did to prisoners was rob them of self control._

_Then again, a normal person would have gone utterly insane after an hour of _Poenatoxicum. _Aurors tended to take about two._

_"I…" He'd been working on this particular Auror for the better part of five months. He knew what the answer would be._

_Voldemort waited._

_"I'll do it," the Auror whispered through the pain. "Just please…please stop…"_

_Voldemort smiled._

_Two._

Snap.

Sirius shivered, and drew back from the sick feeling of satisfaction that he felt—nay, _saw_. Remembered. Except, once again, this was not his memory. Sirius shivered again, feeling cold. He knew who it belonged to. He realized whose eyes he had just seen from—and the knowledge left him feeling dirty, cruel. He had not been there, but in those moments it felt that he had, looking out the other side of the red eyes that had tormented him for far more years than Adam had taken to break.

Still, he found it hard to blame the other man. _Had I not had something to hold so tightly to, I might have…_ Sirius cut the thought off. He preferred to believe that he would not have broken—at least not so quickly, even if he had not had such friends to cling to. But the human soul was a fragile thing, and Voldemort had clearly crushed Adam's.

"Sirius?"

Frank was staring at him. What did Frank see?

He turned. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" The other noticeably did not ask _how do you know these things?_ but the words hung in the air for even a deaf man to hear.

"Yes. I was simply distracted." Sirius was far from deaf, but he ignored them. The cold wind was blowing his hair away from his face.

"How do we face an enemy we cannot see?" Clearwater asked. "Will we let them onto the island?"

"No. We will not." He could see the Dementors coming closer, could sense them, too. Sirius closed his eyes. The picture grew clearer, and for a moment he could sense the island's touch, could feel its warmth, and Sirius reached out. "Twelve Dementors," he said softly. "No. Thirteen. Voldemort. Fifteen Death Eaters."

"Do they _include_ Adam?" Hestia asked harshly. Sirius could only offer her a crooked smile as he opened his eyes.

"To the northern beach—quickly," he ordered. "We will defend the Old Gates. Clearwater, Waters, stay with your Mentors."

Thankfully, both Frank and Alice's students had chosen to take advantage of the time to visit home and were not on Avalon. So had Dawlish's, much to Sirius' relief. Most Aurors would not have been grateful that they were gone, for they were greatly outnumbered, but Sirius was glad that they were gone. _Seven against fifteen, and that's discounting the Dementors and_ _assuming I face Voldemort alone. _Sirius felt a smile growing despite the pessimistic thought. They were long odds, but that tended to be the story of his life.

The others had rushed ahead of him, more worried than Sirius seemed to be. Even to his own mind, he felt strangely calm. He walked slowly forward, wand in hand, one step coming smoothly in front of the next and wondering. It took him a long moment to realize _why _he felt this way, but the truth was there. Adam's memories had broken it loose. The decision had been instinctive, had been made years ago.

_I'd rather be his enemy than his victim._

His long strides ate up the ground, but not quickly enough. By the time Sirius reached the beach, huge waves were crashing up onto the shore, drenching the Aurors as they stood silhouetted in the flashing light. Every few seconds, another lightning bolt would illuminate their shadows, but they seemed very small against the vastness of the ocean. They were on the peninsula, now, just on the south side of the gates and exposed to the elements. The Death Eaters' magically propelled boats were now visible to the naked eye.

Unlike Azkaban, which lay somewhere beyond the crashing waves. Sirius was vaguely relieved that he _couldn't _see Avalon's sister island, and he wasn't about to look. He had always known it was there, and had no desire to ever see it again. _Unless it's turned into a garden, _he decided irrelevantly. _One with lots of pretty flowers and bright colors.__ And only after every building on the damn rock is razed to the ground. _A quirky smile crossed his face, only to disappear as soon as the thought ended. _And salted for good measure._

A pale-skinned figure was standing up in the bow of the lead boat. Even through the Dementors' shadows, he was clearly visible, standing tall and proud, like a conquering hero. His red eyes burned brightly, shining out like absurd beacons in the night. Sirius laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" Hestia demanded, whirling to face him as he reached her side.

"Voldemort," he replied without thinking, then realized from the look she gave him that Hestia thought him rather mad.

"I think you're the only man alive who can do that!" she shouted over the still-rising winds, and Sirius saw something flash in her eyes. A similar look crossed Clearwater's face from where he stood beside her, and Sirius did not know what to say. Instead, he acted.

"Open the gates!" he shouted. "We fight from the shoreline!"

The wind almost carried his words away, but Sirius had always been loud. Quickly, the small group of Aurors made their way to the other side of the Old Gates, but Sirius did not watch. He led the way, with his eyes scanning the horizon. Waves were breaking over the narrow strip of land, almost completely drowning it at some points. More than once, he saw the Old Dock go completely underwater, and he briefly wondered if Voldemort meant to use it. That dock and the gates had once been the only entrance to Avalon, back when Aurors returned to the island via boats from Azkaban. The irony of Voldemort attempting to do so did not escape Sirius, but he doubted the Dark Lord was so foolish. The dock stood in an inlet, and while it was rather protected from the elements, it would force the Death Eaters to fight their way up the entire peninsula before even reaching the gates.

Sirius shrugged off the thought. No, Voldemort was taking the most direct route. He was coming right at them.

His robes sweeping out behind him, Sirius turned just in time to see Frank and Alice turn together to close the gates. He waved them off. "Leave them open!"

"Are you crazy?" Alice yelled. "That will let the Dementors in!"

But it would also let the island _out_.

He could feel power shifting behind him, but it wasn't his own. It was Avalon. Sirius sensed it before the others as, not two hundred yards off the coast, dark shapes soared over crashing waves, rushing forward to capture easy prey. But the others felt something within the island rising to meet the darkness, something _alive _rising to meet death, something sentient fighting the darkness.

White mist rose at Sirius' back. He turned when Dawlish gasped, pointing, and saw the white film creeping across the island, irrevocable, unstoppable. The mist reached the Aurors even as Voldemort's creatures crested the last wave, gray and bony hands reaching for their frozen victims.

The Dementors faltered in their charge.

An inhuman sound split the night as the mist struck the demons, and they screeched in terror—or was it pain? Immediately, the pack shattered, fleeing every direction save towards Avalon. The mist kept reaching, stretching, chasing—and Sirius suddenly realized that he did not feel cold. He had not felt the Dementor's touch, had not been affected at all. _Did Avalon shield us? _he wondered with surprise.

That answer, however, was far easier to figure out than why the island had acted in the first place. And yet it felt right. It always had. Avalon was _different. _Ravenclaw's words suddenly came back to him: _'Avalon will always be both more and less than it seems,' _the famous Auror and co-founder of Hogwarts had written. Had she known something he did not, or had she simply sensed it lurking at the edge of her consciousness, never quite close enough to identify, but always there? Sirius might have contemplated that more, had not Alice's shout bought reality crashing back down.

The Dementors were gone, but the Death Eaters were not. Still they came, with Voldemort in their lead and Adam trapped at his side—trapped by his own choices, but trapped all the same.

"Make the mist go after them!" Waters screeched over the Dementors' fading wails. The mist was following the creatures, though, not targeting the Death Eaters—

"I can't!" Sirius shouted back. "I didn't do it!"

"Then why the hell are we here?" Waters asked foolishly. Sirius ignored him, but Dawlish's voice registered.

"We need to find cover! If we fall back to the gates—"

"No! We stay here!" Sirius cut him off, gesturing at the wild waves. "Target the boats! Use the water _against _them!"

Seven pairs of eyes stared at him for one wasted moment, then as one, the Aurors swung into action. Without orders, they spread out along the water's edge with Sirius at their center and a Longbottom anchoring each end. Spells started shooting out before the line was even completely formed, and the Death Eaters immediately responded in kind. Even Adam was fighting back, and Sirius heard Hestia screech something foul into the wind at him. The range was a bit long, but the battle was joined.

Spray leapt up out of the ocean, drenching Sirius to the bone, but he hardly felt the cold. His eyes had locked with another set, locked and held. Each knew that this wasn't the end. It could not be. The end would be far darker than this. Therefore, one would flee—the only question was which. _Who, indeed?_ Sirius wondered as he raised his arms to shoulder height, letting magic stretch out from him and seep into the waves. Immediately, the seas bucked, joining the whirlpools and gusts formed by the other Aurors. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw one Death Eater thrown clear of his boat, Apparating long before he even hit the water.

_One hundred yards._

Red and green light split the sky, coming mostly from the sea. The Death Eaters had realized that the Aurors were up to something the moment that the spells stopped flying outwards, and they were fighting back with all they were worth. Meanwhile, every other Auror in the line joined together to form an integrated shield spell under Frank's control, while Alice quickly shouted out which boats the others should concentrate on. All except Sirius. Sirius stepped forward, moving out of the line and leaving his back to his colleagues. They did not need him to defend themselves, he knew. They needed him to accomplish something more.

The wild seas grew rougher, tossing the small boats back and forth like toys in a child's bathtub. Still, the Death Eaters clung to their crafts, save Voldemort who simply stood there, as if he was confident that nothing could touch him. Sirius felt a grin grow on his face. _Watch me!_

In retrospect, it was nothing like the duel in Azkaban. It wasn't even like the beginning of the attack on Diagon Alley, when they had been closer matched than ever before. Nor did the situation bear any resemblance to the _end _of their Diagon Alley duel, unless one switched black for white, and threw the results end over end.

Much like Voldemort's boat, when it came down with a crack, a splinter, and a crash. Death Eaters flew as the boat took flight, flipping over like some Muggle roller coaster and aiming for the water. Upon landing, the boat shattered, sending a spray of wood and metal fragments in every direction. However, most of the Death Eaters never hit the water; they raised their wands and Apparated away with less than a second to spare. Some, however, floundered in the high waves before they managed to flee, joined by their compatriots from the other three boats, which the shore-bound Aurors had driven to similar, if less dramatic, fates.

Almost before he could blink, they were gone. The night grew quiet, and the waves began to calm immediately, a sure indicator that the darkness had left Avalon. The white mist was gone, having chased the Dementors back to whatever hell they had been dragged out of, all those years ago, and Sirius somehow doubted that they'd ever see those particular Dementors again. Slowly, the wind died down, and the island grew quiet. Aurors breathed soft sighs of relief, glancing at one another as if surprised to still be alive.

And yet, it had been—

"Too easy," Hestia Jones growled, pushing wet black hair out of her eyes. "That was entirely too easy."

"It was brilliant," Clearwater disagreed, showing his first true exhilaration since the death of his family. His wide eyes were fastened on Sirius as if he'd never seen magic before. The wind picked back up.

The senior Auror shrugged. "I—"

The world went black with pain and he thought that he screamed. His vision gone, Sirius felt himself spinning and collapsing as freezing fire ate its way up his left arm, racing for his heart.

Vaguely, he registered falling to his knees on the ground, _squishing _on wet sand.

_Thought you won, did you?_

Sharp claws sought to rend his soul, and Sirius felt his body buckle and jerk. Cold fingers invaded his mind, yet he was still hearing things—Clearwater was shouting for help, Jones was shouting his name as if afraid to shake him, running footsteps were approaching… Sirius felt as if he were in two places at once, both in the real world and trapped inside his own mind. His head spun, and it was not from their struggle.

Soft laughter. _Do you think you can change yourself so much as to have a _chance, _Sirius? _Paralyzing pain; every nerve in his body was on fire. He felt so cold.

_What you are cannot resist what I—_

Sirius shoved back against the pain, pushing back instead of simply trying to resist. For the first time, he realized that this link was not simply Voldemort's to control, and Sirius used that knowledge.

Explosion of agony. Voldemort was pushing back.

He must have screamed. He must have fallen. No human being could have endured that without doing so, but Sirius didn't hear himself scream. _I'm losing focus, _he thought desperately, struggling to cut the link. If he blacked out, there would be no fighting back, no way out. Clinging to consciousness was the only option, so Sirius clung, little by slowly clawing his way out of the darkness.

And then, just as suddenly as he had come, the Dark Lord vanished. The real world snapped back into focus, and Sirius blinked, staring at the wet sand. Much to his surprise, he was still on his knees, with water seeping through the thin fabric of his robes. His right hand was buried in the sand for balance, but the left was, oddly, still hanging half-bent by his side. The instinctive reaction to clutch the arm to his chest was fading, and Sirius slowly let it fall. Just as calmly, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The world stopped spinning, and his dizziness abruptly vanished.

"Are you all right?" Alice asked worriedly.

_Breathe. Contemplate the implications later. _"Yes," Sirius replied after a moment, pushing the very strangeness of this meeting out of his mind. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Oscar asked worriedly. "You just collapsed…"

"Just?" His head came up sharply, and Sirius rose to steady feet.

"One moment you were standing, and the next you were on your knees," Hestia explained quickly, shooting Sirius a strange look. "Then your body…well, you convulsed a couple of times before going still. But you didn't seem to hear us."

Sirius shook his head to clear it, not sure if he at all liked what he had just been told. "I heard you," he replied. "I was just concentrating on other things."

"Voldemort." Frank's voice was grim, and his eyes were dark. _What does he know?_ There was something chilling in Frank's unhappy expression; the thin lines around his eyes hinted that he knew more than he was saying.

"Yes."

"How many times has this happened?" Alice asked, glancing at her husband.

"Too many," Sirius snorted softly.

"But what does it mean?" she pressed.

Everyone waited for an answer, but Sirius only shrugged out a lie. Yes, he knew…but he was not about to share it. Not here, and especially not with them—Aurors or no, they were likely to judge him more harshly than the rest of the world. _Except, perhaps, for my friends, _Sirius admitted to himself, trying not to swallow. _I think they may hate me for this._ But that was for another time. Sooner or later, he'd have to tell _someone _the truth, aside from Snape. It was odd how Snape, a Death Eater, understood what he was doing while his fellow Aurors would not, but Sirius supposed that was to be expected. After all, he was playing with darkness.

As he turned back towards the Main Villa, he muttered something about getting some rest. The others accepted it at face value—all except Frank, who was still watching Sirius with unreadable eyes. Sirius tried to ignore him, to pretend he did not notice, but it was hard. Frank had once been a friend, but Sirius had the uneasy feeling that those days were fading. Just like so many other things.

--------------

James had always hated getting up early, but at least there was a halfway decent reason this time. After much urging from Lily and Snape, he'd finally come to Hogwarts so that Madam Pomfrey could look at his back problem and give an expert's opinion. James had been dead set against doing so, but Snape's argument had finally sunk in—he had lost the use of his legs _before _Blackwood had given him any potions. Therefore, in addition to keeping James paralyzed, those potions might have been masking the actual problem, which, as Snape pointed out, a Potions Master was not an expert on fixing.

So there he was, letting Pomfrey poke at him and feeling eleven years old again. He wished Lily could have come, but time was short and she was even busier than he was—if that was possible. Reconstruction on the Ministry had just started, and the Unicorn Group was still reeling from the loss of Nicholas Flamel. Between those two, Lily and James saw each other rarely, except when one or the other returned later than late at night. James scrunched up his nose in annoyance. He'd been up until one the night before, going over Ministry records and sorting through Dumbledore's old files—or, what survived of them, anyway. So much was missing that he'd started to wonder if someone had taken it.

"Well, that's interesting…" the healer muttered under her breath, jerking James back to the present. He immediately twisted his head around to look at her (he was stuck lying on his stomach, a position he was certainly not fond of), but she just kept poking.

"Well, what's interesting?" James pressed.

"Professor Snape has given you anti-toxins, yes?"

He tried to nod and ended up with a face full of pillow. Exasperated, James spat pillowcase out of his mouth before replying, "Yes."

"It seems that you've shattered several vertebrae," Pomfrey replied slowly.

"You can fix that, right?"

Pomfrey chuckled briefly. "Of course I can, James."

For a moment, he was struck speechless by relief, and cranked his neck around even further to stare at her with wide eyes. _She just said that she can—_James felt like shouting for joy. So long had gone by that he didn't dare hope any more; his faith in healers had completely vanished after Blackwood's work. But Pomfrey he trusted. It was, after all, hard not to trust the witch who had pieced his shattered face back together after he'd nosedived off his broom at almost a hundred feet up, too busy showing off for Lily to care about safety.

"However, this will take time," the matron continued quietly.

"How long?" James asked eagerly.

"At least a few months," she said gently. "Perhaps more."

He gaped. "What?"

Pomfrey sighed, lowering herself into the chair at his bedside. "The vertebrae are no longer the problem, James," she explained. "The toxin Blackwood gave you was eating away at your spinal cord. Had Severus treated you even a month later, you would never walk again."

"But…" Suddenly, he was afraid again.

"It will heal," the matron assured him. "But it will take time."

James swallowed. "I don't know how to..."

He was going to say _thank you_, and would have had an owl not landed on the pillow right in front of his face. James sputtered and glared, once again having to spit something out as it landed in his mouth, though this time it was a letter. He grabbed for it as the owl dropped the rolled parchment, flying away without a backwards glance. But James hardly cared for the owl. Instead, he was looking at the wax seal on the letter, which included the words _Toujours__ Pur_.

James tore the letter open, still lying prone. Why would Sirius send him a letter when he could simply call…?

**_To: James H. Potter, Minister of Magic_**

**_From: Sirius Black, Head, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Aurors_**

****

**_Voldemort has attacked Avalon. 15 Death Eaters, 13 Dementors, led by Adam Macmillan. _**

**_He has been repulsed._**

**_No injuries._**

**_No deaths._**

**_Jones and Clearwater have departed for France as scheduled._**

****

**_By my own hand:_**

**_Sirius Black_**

It was an oddly formal letter to come from one's best friend, but James recognized the reason once he got past his shock. _Avalon?__ Voldemort found _Avalon He wanted to scream. The Aurors' last sanctuary, in addition to one of the most mysterious locations in the Wizarding World, Avalon was supposed to be untouchable. And yet…it had been. _'He has been repulsed,' _Sirius had written. Gone. Defeated. Avalon was safe.

Still, James had a hard time swallowing the facts. The letter was so dry, so impersonal…it was the letter from a department head to the Minister, no more, no less. True, it divorced James from the situation, allowing the Minister to leave the matter entirely in the Aurors' hands, but James didn't _want _to be divorced. He was an Auror, despite his current condition, and dammit if Sirius wasn't trying to shield him again.

The real question, however, was what Sirius was trying to protect him from this time.

--------------

By dawn, all seven of the Aurors who'd participated in the attack had been exhausted. They'd been too strung up to sleep, and _far_ too curious about what had happened with Sirius. After a few hours and a few messages sent, though, Hestia left with Clearwater and the others went back to bed. Everyone, that was, except for Sirius. Sirius started planning revenge.

When all available Aurors gathered upon Avalon at noon, he already knew where they were going. They were talking quietly, now, trying to pretend that they weren't talking about the attack, weren't talking about him. But so many faces turned red the moment they realized he'd noticed, and dozens of eyes avoided his own. Did they still trust him? There was only one way to find out.

_Am I getting paranoid? _Sirius wondered abruptly, then pushed the thought away. It, too, was for another time. He cleared his throat.

"Strike hard, strike fast," he said, sweeping his eyes around the room. "Alastor Moody used to say that, and he was right.

"We've been hit. Voldemort accomplished what no other in history has—he invaded Avalon, the last untouched sanctuary of the light. We cannot let this go unpunished."

"You mean revenge," Francine Hoyt remarked, her dark eyebrows almost touching.

"Yes."

"Where do I sign up?" Oscar Whitenack asked, his voice far harder than Sirius had ever heard before. The young idealist seemed to have morphed into a hardened old man overnight, and Sirius was sad to see the change.

_Everything is changing…_

Angry grunts of agreement came from all corners of the room, and Sirius saw shadows of Oscar's hardness in almost every face. There was nothing Aurors hated so much as feeling cornered, and the strike on Avalon had shaken them. Avalon was theirs. It was the Aurors' job to keep it safe.

Everyone, he noticed, avoided mentioning how it had stayed safe this time. _Don't you trust me? _he wanted to scream, but refrained. In truth, he was afraid of what the answer might be.

"Where to?" was all Alice asked.

Sirius allowed himself a small nod. "The Riddle House."

--------------

_A house on a hill.__ Grand and imposing, if not a little…dark._

_Night._

_Figures rushing through the bushes.__ Hiding._

Flash.

_Something was burning. The night was as bright as day—was it day, now? The stars had faded, and red light lit the sky—_

Faces.

_Nymphadora Tonks. He remembered her. Such a bright girl, if hopelessly clumsy. She'd always seemed too sneaky to be a Ravenclaw, but she'd been smarter than met the eye—_

_She was running. Towards or away from something? There was no way to tell, but she was inside a room—_

_And the floor heaved out from under her, sending Tonks flying through the air._

_Green light.__ Red light. Green. Purple. Black. Fire._

_Fire._

_A burning body.__ Live body. The man was screaming._

_Green._

_Someone convulsing in mid-air.__ Striker?_

_Fire._

_Screaming._

_Screaming._

_Screaming._

_Curses.__ Burning. Flying Tree._

Flash.

_Rodolphus Lestrange dueling with someone.__ Frank? His victim collapses. Lestrange smiles, raising his wand._

_Sirius—_

"Headmaster?"

Remus jumped, smashing his knees into the bottom of his desk in the process. His vision swam, and the room spun, but one figure stood out, and her huge eyes were staring at him with concern. Images still danced through his mind, but they were illusive, like mist that Remus couldn't quite grasp, no matter how he tried—

_Sirius stepping forward._

_Laughter._

_Burning._

_Screams._

_Burning—_

"Professor Lupin?"

He jumped again, then shook himself. "Yes?" Remus managed, aware that his voice shook unsteadily.

"Are you all right?"

He blinked a few times, disappointed that it made the images disappear. "I'm fine."

Remus wanted to scream. Something was happening, was going to happen, had happened—and he did not know what. And had Trelawney not walked into his office, he would have known. _What happens with Sirius? _There had been a darker quality to his friend than Remus had ever seen before…but maybe it was simply a trick of the light.

_And you just _look _like a wolf during a full moon, Moony. It's only a trick of the light._

"Can I help you, Sybil?" he asked weakly.

She smiled that unnerving smile of hers. "May I borrow your copy of _Hogwarts, A History, _Headmaster? I seem to have lost mine, and the library's is out…"

--------------

Screaming.

Severus stood with his back to the cold wall, almost leaning against it, but not quite. He'd have stepped back further if he dared, but disgust only went so far when attempting to escape…_this._

He'd seen plenty of torture in his days as a Death Eater. Once, his daydreams had been made of the stuff that formed others' worst nightmares, but no longer. Somehow, he'd become a different man—but he was still doing the same old thing, and Severus had never possessed much taste for watching a broken man die.

That, of course, did not stop Bellatrix from enjoying herself. Nor did it stop most of the others, even if they'd just contributed a Cruciatus Curse as their turn came around. Of course, he'd done the same, but appearances had to be kept up. _And it's not like I've got a soul left to lose, anyway, so what am I worried about?_ He resisted the urge to scowl deeper. Macmillan had disintegrated into a bloody mess of bone and skin—most of which were _not _attached to each other—and still they tortured.

His ears were starting to hurt.

_Great excuse, Severus._Even the thought made him feel dirty. _Is that _all _that bothers you?_

Damn conscience.

The noise finally stopped, and the Auror-turned-traitor lay face down in a shivering heap on the floor. He was alive only through Voldemort's intervention, Severus knew—he hadn't missed the slight signal that had forced Bellatrix to stop. The others were watching curiously, now, waiting for what came next—waiting for the grand finale. He wanted to roll his eyes, but did not. Courting death was not a good idea.

Macmillan was mumbling senselessly, probably trying to plead. But he'd been screaming for too long, and had no voice left. His efforts only made Bellatrix giggle.

"I…"

"You what?" Bellatrix cooed. "You want it to _stop_?"

The resulting noise could have been called a whimper at best, but it was without doubt an affirmative sound. Severus' head was pounding, strangely synchronized with the blood pumping out from the wide gash Bellatrix had just put in Macmillan's side. He wouldn't last long without help, and Severus knew that help would not be coming.

"Enough, Bella." There was no pity in the soft voice, nothing short of cold iron. Still, the Dark Lord moved forward as his pet stepped back, gliding smoothly over the bloodstained floor. They were in his palace, not Azkaban proper, and Severus could only imagine how many Scouring Charms it would take to wipe the floor clean, but he doubted anyone cared.

Voldemort crouched down before Macmillan, his robes dipping in the wet blood. The broken Auror twitched slightly as if trying to escape, but he lacked the strength to even pull his head up off of the floor. After a moment of staring, the Dark Lord reached out and did so for him.

"You plead as if you think it will make a difference," the Dark Lord whispered. Gently, he reached out to brush hair from Macmillan's eyes, and the former Auror flinched weakly. "But why should it?

"Nothing is more useless than an ineffective traitor."

He stood, dropping Macmillan's head to the floor; it landed with a soft _squish._ Without so much of a glance over his shoulder, the Dark Lord turned away, striding from the room and speaking over his shoulder:

"Finish it."

As one, the Death Eaters bowed, murmuring thankfully. Severus was one of the few who did not automatically fasten his eyes to the floor while doing so; instead, he watched the others' faces, reading desire, anticipation, and pleasure. He swallowed, then stopped himself, hoping that no one noticed. But no—they were concentrating on Macmillan, who simply lay dying on the floor. He'd stopped fighting within the first five minutes. The moment that Voldemort had walked in the room.

It would not take long, but he knew it would feel like eternity. Severus would be required to stay for the last act, of course, and he'd participate. He'd hate every moment, but he would torture and maim and pretend to enjoy it. And there was no use lying to himself—even if there had been a way out, he wouldn't have taken it. He could not, not without jeopardizing that which kept him alive: his status amongst Voldemort's followers. _Odd how the same thing that allows me to survive now will accomplish the same thing when the war ends. Only as a spy do I prosper._

So he smiled when Bellatrix offered him the first few moments, and accepted as gracefully one should expect a child of such an ancient and noble house to do.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Stay tuned for more action in Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dies Irae. (Bonus Points to those who figure out the title). There are only five chapters left to go before _Promises Defended_, and the more you encourage me, the faster I write. Let me know that you'd like to see PR end before the New Year!


	39. Chapter 39: Dies Irae

**Promises Remembered**

**The Sequel to Promises Unbroken**

_Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dies Irae (The Day of Wrath)_

Both his escorts seemed exhausted by the time the trio arrived in Paris, but Peter's inquiries had only been met by a snappish response of "We'll be _fine_," from Jones. She'd scowled, he'd scowled back, and that was that. Clearwater watched both with unreadable eyes, but Peter sensed disapproval when the younger Auror looked his way. He hadn't expected much conversation from either of his companions, but this was by far worse than he'd thought it would be.

Of course, it could be that International Apparation made them both cranky, but Peter doubted it. Aurors were typically much better at that sort of thing than he was, and neither looked any less steady upon arrival. Then again, Aurors were typically much better at anything than he was. Jones did look angrier, though, and Peter supposed that was something.

"What now, Pettigrew?" she demanded, still glaring. Her student glanced around the private square they'd landed in, just outside the Magical Assembly—the plaza of innocents, Peter had learned it was called during his first visit so long ago. Had only fourteen months passed? It felt like a lifetime.

"This way," Peter said, leading the pair forward. Usually, he was met by a guide, but he knew which way to go. _I've certainly been here often enough, _he thought distractedly, glancing over his shoulder at Jones. "I do wish you'd just call me Peter."

"Why?" Direct and to the point; that was Jones.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Hearing just my last name reminds me of…other things."

"Oh." She was bright enough to get it, at least, but her protégée was not was not.

"What—?"

A hard look from Jones silenced him, and Clearwater shrugged. Peter threw a thankful smile at the black-haired witch, but he might as well have been smiling at a rock for all the reaction she showed.

"Monsieur Pettigrew!"

Both Aurors' wands came out as a grinning brown-haired wizard rushed in their direction, and Peter barely managed to catch his balance when Jones shoved him out of the way. The newcomer paused in mid-stride two as wands zeroed in on his face, wide eyed and clearly debating if he should fight or run. Peter swore.

"He's a friend!" Peter said quickly, pushing between Jones and Clearwater with his hand outstretched. He resolutely ignored the Aurors. "Sorry about that. My bodyguards are a bit…overzealous." He smiled sheepishly. "It's good to see you again, Jean."

"And you." Jean eyed the others cautiously, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I apologize for being late, but le Présidente—ah, you know how politicians are."

"Yes, I certainly do," Peter replied, trying not to grin. _And he knows I'm a politician, too. The man's certainly got flair._ "Thanks for meeting us, Jean. This is Hestia Jones and Jason Clearwater."

"Aurors?" Jean asked immediately, and both nodded, although Peter spotted surprise in Clearwater's eyes.

Peter, however, was not surprised. Since becoming the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, he had visited a score of countries, meeting "liaisons" in each one. None of them, however, were quite like Jean d'Orville, and Peter suspected that was because Jean wasn't a politician at all. In fact, Peter was reasonably sure that Jean was a spy, perhaps even one of Les Aurors Spéciales. He certainly _acted _enough like an Auror (albeit one with a taste for intrigue), even though an outsider probably would not have noticed. Jean played the role to perfection—but Peter hadn't been a Marauder for nothing. Skill at fooling people usually morphed into an awareness of when others were doing the same, and Peter's instincts had been shouting "spy!" ever since about five minutes after they'd first met.

That didn't keep him from liking, Jean, of course, but it did put things in perspective.

"Shall we go?" he asked, smiling back.

"But of course," Jean replied, turning to lead them into Le Maison, the headquarters of the French Magical Assembly. But he did not turn quite quickly enough, and Peter saw him give the others a quick once-over with his eyes, studying and evaluating. The Frenchman's smile quirked just a little bit larger, and he winked at Peter.

_This_, the Marauder decided, _is going to be yet another interesting negotiation_.

--------------

"You're going to attack the Riddle House, aren't you?" Remus asked him the day before the raid was scheduled to take place.

The shattered remnants of the Inner Circle had met once more—at Hogwarts, this time, because there was hardly anywhere else left to go. They could have met at Grimmauld Place again, but there was something oppressive about the old place…and Remus had quietly voiced a preference for Hogwarts, probably hoping that the comfortable surroundings would jar Fawkes out of his distant funk. No such luck. The phoenix wasn't even there.

But Sirius started when his friend spoke, struggling to keep the surprise off of his face and wishing that Bill expression did not so obviously give it away. _Hell, like you're doing any better! _he snapped at himself, forcing his eyes to shrink down to their normal size. "Come again?"

"You heard me, Sirius." Remus sighed. "I think that everyone here knows at least a little about my visions…I haven't really tried to hide it from the seven of you."

For the first time, Sirius realized that he was the only one in the room who knew _why _Remus had those visions. Remus hadn't told James or Peter about the Font, or about what it had done to him; Sirius suspected that he would never have found out if Remus hadn't desperately needed to share the awful knowledge with _someone_. Even then, Sirius knew very little about how the Font worked…and he wanted to know even less. Still, he understood Remus' need for secrecy—there were some powers that simply weren't meant to be shared.

_Like those two potions still brewing on Avalon, _he thought darkly. _The ones that will change my life forever…as if the Conmalesco has not. _He swallowed, and tried desperately to hide it. Still, he knew the truth. _There's no turning back, Sirius, and you know it. So bring yourself back to the present and do what must be done._

Thankfully, every eye was on Remus as he continued: "I saw Aurors at the Riddle House," the headmaster said quietly. "They were battling Death Eaters, and there was something burning…but I do not know what. And I was interrupted before I could see the end."

"Are your visions always true?" Mundungus Fletcher asked tightly, memories narrowing his eyes. The former Auror had spent two harrowing weeks at the Riddle House, Sirius knew. Two weeks while Voldemort had tortured him and shattered him in August of 1989.

"Yes." Remus nodded slowly. "They are not always clear…but I have never had one fail me." Briefly, his eyes cut to Sirius. "Even Diagon Alley."

The others nodded as Sirius resisted the urge to bite his lip. "You're right," he admitted instead. "We are going to attack the Riddle House. Something has to be done in response to his attempt on Avalon."

"You were going to tell me this when?" James asked immediately, but his light tone took most of the sting out of the words.

"Tomorrow morning," Sirius replied. "Over breakfast."

Fortunately it was true, because James had always been able to tell when he was lying. The Minister of Magic nodded once, not precisely happy, but understanding. James had been an Auror. So, alas, had others.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Dung asked quietly. "I know that the house appears to be just another Muggle manor, but it's anything but that. Don't forget that Voldemort used the place for years before he took Azkaban. The security alone is enough to stop an army."

"It needs to be done," Sirius said firmly, letting his eyes flirt around the room. "Also, we've been watching the manor for a month, and now is the time to strike. The Death Eaters have gotten careless."

Snape's frown spoke volumes, but his words contradicted the unhappy expression. "I am forced to agree," he said slowly. "The Dark Lord—excuse me, _Voldemort_—has left Lucius Malfoy in charge of security, but Lucius rarely likes to dirty his robes by visiting the place. In actuality, Crabbe and Goyle are responsible for the Riddle House, and neither of them is exactly what I'd call brilliant."

"So there you have it," Sirius concluded quietly. "We'll strike hard and strike fast, and not just for the Aurors. It's time to remind the Wizarding world that there is hope for victory, and that the light will fight back."

Again, the others nodded, but Sirius wished that he could feel the hope he saw spark in their eyes. Those were just words, really. Empty words. He'd spoken them because they needed to be said, not because there was some magic behind them—and mere words or battles would not defeat Voldemort. The Aurors, the Ministry, and the Order had been trying for years, only to have wands and rhetoric fail time and again. What they needed was a _difference_, though no one in that room was quite prepared for what that difference would have to entail.

_Even me, _Sirius thought honestly. But he was doing so anyway, and would start with the Riddle House. It was time.

--------------

Three and a half days later, it was stillinteresting. By that point, Peter was well and truly fed up with _politicians. _That, of course, was a rather contradictory thought, but it was true nonetheless. Although life had led him into politics, Peter liked to think of himself as honest and (at the very least) relatively straightforward. He'd never enjoyed playing games, biding time, or waiting for the political process to work itself out. Peter vastly preferred to get to the point, but after nine separate sets of "talks" with Présidente Legarde, he was ready to strangle someone. Day after day, he'd pressed for an answer, even showing Legarde a personal letter from James, but it had done no good.

Even the truth didn't work. Over the last several months, there had been isolated Death Eater attacks throughout France, but most of the Magical Assembly refused to believe that they were Voldemort's doing. They were politicians, concerned with nothing but politics, and reality only got in the way.

_Yeah, and that Dark Mark burning in the sky is just a figment of your imagination._

"Monsieur Pettigrew, I understand your Minister's urgency, but this is not France's problem," Legarde told him for the thirty-fifth time. Peter was counting.

And for the thirty-fifth time, he said the same thing. "Perhaps not now, but what if Britain falls? What then? Do you think that Voldemort will be content to leave you alone once he owns just one small corner of Europe?"

"Do not say his name!"

Usually, Peter didn't, and the reaction made him smile tightly. Legarde would never know how hard it had been for Peter to learn to do so, how much he'd struggled to escape his own fears—but the ploy worked. "You fear him, don't you?" Peter asked quietly. "Even when you say that he is not your problem."

"He is not!" Legarde snapped.

"If not now, when?" Peter sighed. "Where is the line, Monsieur Présidente?"

"And what is to keep us from siding with him, eh?" the Frenchman suddenly demanded, looking mulish. "Why should France follow Britain's lead?"

"Wha—" Peter cut off, staring speechlessly. During all the time he'd spent in France, all the talks, and all the work, he had _never _heard words like these from anyone, especially Legarde. For all his faults, the présidente was a strong man, and he'd never struck Peter as a Death Eater sympathizer. But this…?

His wasn't the only head that had snapped up. From his chair off to the side, Jean stared at his superior—he'd been silent in every negotiation, simply watching and listening, but now he spoke up, shock coloring his face. "Eugène?"

"Forgive me." The présidente blushed, shaking his head. "I do not mean it, but..." He shrugged eloquently, as only a Frenchman could. "It is not so simple."

"With all due respect, sir, I think that it is," Peter replied quietly.

Legarde opened his mouth to voice an objection, but Jean cut him off. "It is time to stop stalling, mon amie," he said quietly, unconsciously echoing some of Peter's earlier thoughts. "And it is time to stop hiding the truth." He turned to face Peter.

"I must admit that I was wary of your Minister's offer of an alliance," he said candidly. "We of Les Aurors Spéciales have heard many rumors about the effects…_Voldemort_ has had upon your country. But your conduct here has gone a long way towards convincing me that your fight may not be doomed for failure."

His eyes flashed, and something dark in his face kept Peter from rejoicing in the fact that he'd been right—Jean was indeed an Auror, _and _the French weren't going to keep their heads in the sewers forever. But those brown eyes had zeroed in on him intensely.

"I have but one question, Peter." The man's voice could have frozen the Hogwarts lake on a hot summer day. "If you are so dedicated to the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, why do you bear his brand upon your left forearm?"

--------------

"I just don't know, Arthur," James sighed. "On one hand—"

The left breast of his robes leapt up and tried to hit him in the face.

"What in the name of—" Arthur started, cutting off when the robes _did _smack James in the face. The Minister of Magic spat out cotton and swore, reaching up to grab whatever magical prank his son must have hidden in this old set of robes, when a high-pitched _ticking _noise filled the small office.

"Huh?" he asked stupidly, glancing up to stare at Arthur. His deputy frowned.

"That sounds like a—"

"Watch!" James jumped at the sound of his own voice and felt his heart start to pound. _"The watch!"_

Fumbling, he thrust both hands inside his robes and grabbed for it. James had never been a big fan of pocket watches, but he'd grown into the habit of wearing this one—somehow, it simply seemed appropriate for the Minister of Magic. In fact, he'd become so accustomed to the weight that he'd even forgotten that the watch was there, and it had never done anything before. After all, the watch only told time when you cast a Time Charm on it, which made it next to useless, even if it was extraordinarily handsome. For a pocket watch.

The watch Dumbledore bequeathed to James had six words engraved upon it as the legs of a six pointed star: _Safety, Mourning, Peace, Danger, Celebration, _and _War._ They were set in blue stone against the gold background, and the single red hand would point at whichever best represented the Wizarding world at that time. For as long as James had owned the watch, that hand had pointed at _War_, and he had almost come to believe that it would never move.

Now, though, the hand pointed straight upwards, bisecting the word than ran straight up the middle of the watch, engraved slightly larger and brighter than the others.

C H A N C E.

--------------

He arrived alone.

For once, the decision was made prudently instead of rashly; Sirius had rushed into many a situation during his life, risking life and limb for dubious reasons that had seemed like wise ideas at the time. This time, however, he was making a calculated risk. And yes, he'd called it that before—but this actually was. One life, he'd always reasoned, was worth putting on the line if it would save others. Especially if that one individual still had the ability to transform into a giant black dog.

Sirius hardly waited until he had fully materialized before shifting into his Animagus form. Doing so wasn't exactly something that Professor McGonagall would have recommended, but careful examination had revealed that the wards were not keyed to recognize animals. It was a foolish loophole, if a relatively minor one in the grand scheme of things—after all, there were only five registered Anamagi alive, and most of their forms could not dig worth a damn.

The dog grinned to itself and set to work.

--------------

Exactly fifteen minutes later, thirty-two Aurors Apparated onto the front walk of the Riddle House. Not three seconds after that, the black dog morphed into Sirius Black, who, having dug his way inside the ancient stone wall ringing the Riddle House was inside the wards already and would not set them off. It was a simple security system, based on the belief that those inside the walls were those who were supposed to be there, and it worked—right up until the time someone could get inside undetected and let others in.

Sirius smiled grimly as his Aurors split into three groups, pausing only to do a quick head count before setting out. The unique build of the Riddle House had necessitated some changes to the basic Auror raid plan, but he, Alice, Frank, and Francine Hoyt had planned this one to death. There were three doors on the ground floor of the manor, and one group would take each. The first group, Sirius', was intended more as a distraction than anything else; theirs would be the most dangerous task, and the most useless, but it was also the most necessary. If they could draw all resistance away from the back door, Alice, Frank, and the others of Group 3 could make it into the basement unnoticed. Meanwhile, Francine's Group 2 would come in through the kitchen door and back up Sirius' smaller group.

Bill Weasley came up on his left as Sirius dropped to one knee on the gravel drive, squinting to see in the darkness. Slowly and carefully, Sirius counted to ten as he watched the other groups split off to either side, disappearing into the gloom. It was a strangely foggy night, especially for two hours before midnight, but somehow Sirius found that fitting. It was also useful, allowing the Aurors to stay close to the house and away from the ward focus points on the wall without being seen.

_As if anyone is awake to see them,_ Sirius thought acidly. If there were any Death Eaters at the Riddle House—and he devoutly hoped that there were—they weren't exactly awake. Padfoot's sprint around the fence line had been uneventful, and all three groups reached their destinations with equal ease.

"Now," he whispered, and shot forward. Sirius did not need to look back to know that Bill, Tonks, Striker Williamson, Terry Scott, Mucia Coleman, Alain Brittingham, Marcy Trimble and Christa Gambledon were on his heels; he could feel the ground rumble as their feet pounded into the ground.

Sixty-two steps. He counted each one, and felt that they took a lifetime. Thirty seconds, however, lasted entirely too long for comfort. Maroon doors loomed before him, twice as high as Sirius was tall, and at least ten feet across. It was a grand old Muggle mansion, Sirius knew, and looked the part.

_"Cadovallum."_Sirius let the word out in a half-whisper on step forty-nine. He spoke so softly that even Bill would have had to struggle to hear him, but there was nothing quiet about the results.

A simple disintegration spell would have been easier than the Wall Destroyer, but the objective was to be loud. Distracting. _Noticeable._ On step fifty-seven, the doors crashed down with a gigantic _bang_, sending wood fragments and plaster flying everywhere. A few pieces landed near the Aurors, but none hit. The path was clear.

Clear and fast. Sirius' feet landed in rubble on step sixty-three, and green light flashed on step sixty-five.

_"Get down!"_ he ordered, diving to the floor and rolling right. _I guess they're awake now! _Aurors dropped around him, but Sirius heard return curses beginning to fly. Only a few feet to his left, Bill let loose a Reductor, and Sirius heard Tonks' voice follow with a shield spell to cover them all.

"Coleman, Brittingham, check the alcove!" he snapped, gesturing to the small opening to their left. Mucia Coleman sprinted off immediately with her student in her wake. Sirius watched them out of the corner of his eye, then quickly twisted into his customary crouch and stuck his head up.

It almost immediately came off as green light zeroed in on his silhouette. _Bellatrix._ One glance was enough, however, for his mind to recognize the other faces in the first line of Death Eaters he and his team faced. There was a second line behind the first, but there was no time to identify them—there had to be twenty Death Eaters arrayed against his small team of nine. _Something's wrong here, _his mind reported. _There should not be this many. _She _should not be here. _But Bellatrix formed the center. Francis Travers, Carol Moon, and Derek Corner were at her left, while all three Fawcetts, Fredrick Moon, and Amanda Pieters—_Pieters?_ Alarm bells went off in Sirius' head, and he suddenly felt cold. Pieters. Sirius swallowed hard. _Two from Azkaban_. _How many more will there be? Who's next?_ It was hard not to glance at Bill, hard not to think of Frank. _Or myself._ Sirius shivered.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Extundo!"_

Someone screamed.

Light flashed.

_"Imperio!"_

The words hung heavy in his heart. Who would be next? Was it simply an Imperius Curse, or was it something more? Adam had broken in Azkaban. Sirius had somehow known even before he'd seen the memory in Voldemort's mind. Adam had crumbled under pressure that Sirius knew far too well. But what had happened to Amanda Pieters?

_"Reducto!"_

_"Everbero!"_

_"Rumperis!"_

_"Cru—"_

Sirius' head snapped up again, and time sped up. Curses were flying over him, and the dark hallway seemed as bright as day. Walls were creaking and crumbling with each hit, and pieces of the ceiling were raining down on his head. The Aurors were crouching in the ruined doorway, but there was hardly any cover. No one had been hit yet, as far as Sirius could tell, but they were about to be in trouble, and Sirius knew it. The only choice was to push forward, but—

Voldemort now held the center of the line.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ the Dark Lord thundered, and Sirius dove left without thought. He knew at whom the curse was aimed.

Sirius bounced off the wall, throwing a shield up to join his cousin's before he bothered to stand. "Push forward!"

He was on his feet and moving before the others could respond. Sirius fired off one spell, then two, and ten more—he could hardly recollect what he cast, but combat-tuned reflexes allowed Sirius to act without thought. Bill and Tonks were right behind him, but Sirius zeroed in his attention on Voldemort, who had somehow known to Apparate in right after they'd arrived. _He shouldn't be here, either. How could he have known?_ his mind raged. Fire prickled on his arm, but Sirius felt cold.

One step. Two. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

There was no time for niceties. No time to do the right thing. Sirius knew that the curse would never kill Voldemort, but at least it got the point across—

Someone screamed, and Sirius' heart leapt. In the split second between casting the curse and watching it strike, he suddenly realized that Voldemort's attention had been elsewhere, and his back exposed. It was one chance in a million—but the screaming Death Eater was Derek Corner as Bellatrix shoved him forward. He stumbled, caught himself…right in the Killing Curse's path. Corner crumbled. Voldemort spun. Red eyes met Sirius', and then the Dark Lord's cold voice filled the hall with power.

_"Acervis!"_

Sirius dove to the floor, praying that the black light would not track him. It could, he knew, but only if there was enough time—"Look out!" Bill cried.

A scream of pain filled the hall, and Sirius felt the darkness raging, reaching out, ripping and raping someone's soul. He twisted, heartsick, in time to see Striker Williamson convulsing. The Auror had been caught in mid air by the curse, and they could all seem him fading. Another tormented scream tore out of his already raw throat, and then the life abruptly drained out of Striker's face.

The darkness released him, and the hard-edged Auror crumbled to the ground. _Cold._Sirius did not need a healer to tell him that Striker was dead; his Mark was burning fiercely in response to the darkness.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _Two voices, in unison, one female and one male. Sirius didn't have time to turn back, though he knew one was Bellatrix—the other, perhaps, was Dolohov, but he did not care. The green power lashed out, and even as Sirius opened his mouth to shout a warning, Mucia Coleman and Alain Brittingham stepped out of the alcove.

_"No!" _Tonks screeched.

Both Aurors crumbled.

There was no time to grieve.

"Quickly, to the left!" Sirius shouted, bounding to his feet and firing off a fast Strike Spell. He hit someone. Something.

Twisting right, Sirius waved the others behind him. From his study of the manor's floor plan, he knew that the door Bill was wrenching open led to the study, and knew that they could further escape into the library…where the Aurors would hit a dead end. But there was no other choice. The hallway had become a killing ground.

"Go, go, go!" Bill shouted, shoving his student through the doorway.

_"Crucio!"_It was Bellatrix. _Typical._

He dodged and ducked, firing off curses as quickly as he could, but one Auror against twenty Death Eaters was suicide. Even had Voldemort not been there, Sirius would have been doomed, had he meant to stand and fight. Instead, he only had to buy time.

Strike. Reductor. Killing Curse. Shield. Shield again, and strike back. Moving too fast for thoughts, dancing the most deadly dance he'd ever danced. Sirius was weaving in and out between strands of power, and he'd never felt so alive. Every sense was awake and throbbing; every motion was calculated in a corner of his mind that he couldn't quite reach—consciously. Dodge. Bone Breaker. Mirror Curse. Disintegration. Decapitation. He hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he hadn't been hit, either.

Tonks, Scott, and Lawrence were through the door. Bill ushered Christa through, and then turned back to Sirius. The redhead hesitated.

"Go!" the senior Auror shouted. Bill ducked into the study, but not before Sirius saw worry flash through his eyes.

He need not have bothered. The moment Sirius saw Bill escape, he swung into motion, falling back one step and then two—_Shield Spell!_ his mind screeched, and Sirius erected one just in time to block someone's Decapitation Curse. Four steps. Five. He was just two away from the opening.

_"Cadovallum!"_ Rodolphus Lestrange shouted, and the entire manor rocked without warning. Dust flew everywhere, obscuring Sirius' view of the enemy, and he knew that he should take the chance to run even when Voldemort's long strides brought the Dark Lord emerging from the haze. The air cleared quickly, and Sirius saw darkness and stars where there had been none before. Abruptly, he realized that the back wall had been blown out, and…was that Rodolphus leading half of the Death Eaters out?

"Sirius!" Bill shouted, jarring him out of his confusion. Voldemort's wand was coming up—

Sirius dove through the doorway, and heard Tonks slam it shut behind him. Such a thin barrier would not hold any wizard long, but at least it was something.

"Owh!" Scrambling to his feet, Sirius hit his head on a nearby desk, sending its contents flying all over the study. He swore and caught his balance, noticing that no one laughed.

"What's that?" Tonks asked curiously, pointing at Sirius' right foot.

He glanced down, realizing that he stood upon an ancient looking square of parchment, perfectly folded and flat. Sirius dropped into a crouch to pick it up. "Good ques—"

The door exploded, taking Christa out at the knees and sending her to the ground. "Get back!" Sirius shouted. "To the library!"

There was one more door, and it was their only route of escape. Immediately, the Aurors broke for it, but Bellatrix had already stepped into the study, and Sirius could feel Voldemort lurking just behind her.

There was no time. They knew it, and still they went.

---------------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: 13 days to go, four chapters to post—and three to write. Can I do it? You'd better believe I will! So please review, and stay tuned for the rest of the Riddle House Raid soon. The more encouragement I get (insert shameless plug for reviews here), the faster it comes. Can PR beat PU for reviews? So, stay tuned for even more action, and some interesting surprises.


	40. Chapter 40: Alea Iacta Est

**Promises Remembered**

**The Sequel to Promises Unbroken**

_Chapter Forty: Alea Iacta Est (The Die is Cast)_

"Quickly," Alice hissed, waving the others ahead. Frank paused in the doorway to offer her a smile, but it was tight with stress. Her husband would be leading Group Three while Alice brought up the rear—although she was the team's nominal commander, they always worked in this manner. The two had been one of the Aurors' best pairs for many years, and time hadn't changed that. Now, they were just working on a different level.

One by one, her Aurors tiptoed down the stairs, wands at the ready. Alice could already hear the sounds of battle coming from above them, but that was not her concern. As much as she wanted to help Sirius and the others, Group Three was tasked with clearing the cells kept in the depths of the Riddle House. There, Derek Dawlish and Oscar Whitenack had found evidence of Mad-Eye Moody's imprisonment. Now, less than a month later, Alice hoped to find her old Mentor…or at least answers to questions that begged asking.

Suddenly, the stairs shook and Alice felt the deep rumble of an explosion reverberate through the house. Her instincts immediately screamed at her to run back up the stairs, to discover what had happened—but they could not. _You've got a job to do, _she reminded herself sternly. _So do they._ A grim smile wormed its way onto Alice's face with the next thought. _Besides, it was probably just Sirius being feisty._

Someone up front had cast _Lumos _too quietly for Alice to hear; it was probably Cornelia, because Frank would want his wand free. Feet padded quietly on cold stone stairs, but they reached the basement quickly enough.

The first thing Alice noticed was the stench of old blood. The second was how abominably _cold _it was in there.

--------------

"We should…" Gabriel started to speak as Group Two slipped through the kitchen, but Kingsley shook his head.

"We can't," he whispered to his student. "Sirius and the others will hold them." _They'll have to, _Kingsley didn't add, but he saw the thought reflected on both his students' faces. Unlike everyone except for Francine, Kingsley had taken on two pupils for Mentoring, but he'd yet to regret a moment of it. Simon Edgecombe and Gabriel Binns were both bright kids, and they showed extraordinary promise.

However, they were both major parts of the reason why both Francine and Kingsley had been regulated to Group Two. They were to slip up the stairs and clear the top floor, where little resistance was expected. _A good thing, too, seeing as how our students outnumber the full Aurors, _the instructor thought darkly, gesturing for both his pupils to precede him. Francine had reached the far side of the kitchen already, and was peeking out around the edge. Her face was unhappy, and Kingsley got a glimpse of why when green light danced off the walls.

Then an explosion rocked the manor, and Kingsley knew it was time.

"Now!" he snapped, without waiting for Francine to give the word. But she wasn't the oldest of the Aurors for nothing (in age, not experience); Francine was already in motion. She hadn't lived so long through being slow.

The shouting sounded distant through the dust cloud. Kingsley pounded along behind his students, twelfth out of twelve in line to protect the others. He couldn't even see Francine anymore through the haze, but he hadn't heard any spells coming in their direction. A rainbow of light continued to show through the gloom, but the frequency of curses was lessening. Ten feet to the stairs.

From far away, Kingsley thought he heard someone shout Sirius' name. Immediately, Gabriel's steps faltered, making his Mentor almost slam into his back. Kingsley growled under his breath and shoved his student forward again._ No time, _he thought furiously. _No time. No time._ There weren't moments to spare. Figures were moving towards them through the gloom.

They reached the stairs and ran upwards.

--------------

Sirius stuffed the parchment into his robe as he ran, throwing a shield up to strengthen Bill's as Lawrence dragged Christa out of the way. She regained her balance quickly, limping and snarling in pain, but shook off her student's offer of help.

"Not now," she snapped. "Get a shield—"

Power crackled and their shield buckled. Blackness flashed before Sirius' eyes, and he staggered, bumping into Scott before he could stop himself. Cold. Cold. Cold. _Pain._ Knowing who had destroyed the shield, Sirius forced a new one up just in time to see a flash of black light bounce off of it. Seconds later—an _eternity _later—he felt Bill, Tonks, and Christa join in.

Tonks was fast for a new Auror, and she seemed good under pressure. Still, she and the others seemed abnormally slow; only after that had registered in Sirius' mind did Scott and Lawrence get shields up. The Aurors retreated together, step by step and foot by foot, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Even the Death Eater's spells seemed slow as the haze finally receded from the edges of Sirius' vision. The Mark was burning constantly. So close. Too close.

_The Conmalesco_, Sirius realized abruptly. Until that moment, he had not realized how strongly the potion had affected him…but it had. And Sirius could feel it in every move he made.

They were at the final doorway, and Scott threw it open as the Aurors continued to retreat. Instinctively, Sirius slid a step forward, knowing that he had to be last through the door. A half dozen Death Eaters were crowding the study now, though Voldemort was not amongst them. Sirius searched for the Dark Lord futilely, but gave up the effort quickly. He knew that he'd find Voldemort soon enough.

Someone swore.

_"Look out!" _Bill shouted, and Sirius saw him crumble to the floor. Immediately, Scott leapt to his side, and was felled by another curse. Tonks, Lawrence, and Christa dove through the door just as Sirius ducked a Killing Curse. Dropping into a roll, he let momentum carry him into the library.

Christa slammed the door shut, but it was of little use. A lightshow was already in progress within the library—there were at least _another _ten Death Eaters inside, including Narcissa Malfoy and both Baddocks. Spells flew everywhere and Aurors screamed; blood splattered Sirius in the face even as he realized that the floor was stained with it. "Take cover!"

Even as he said the words, Sirius realized that it was useless. There was nothing to take cover behind; save for the bookshelves, all the furniture was gone. _They knew, _he realized hollowly. _They knew we were coming and we've followed _his _plan every step of the way._ But there was no time to figure out how. Sirius could only swallow back the horror and start looking for ways to change the odds.

_"Reducto!"_Again, it was Bellatrix from the doorway. Christa crumbled, and Lawrence leapt for his unconscious Mentor.

_"Offenvox!"_

Lawrence collapsed right on top of her, twitching until Bill countered the curse for him. The redhead was bleeding from his right shoulder, but he was up again. That, however, was more than Sirius could say for Tonks as Narcissa's Cruciatus Curse broke through the Aurors lines and the young witch collapsed, screaming.

Again, Bill acted, throwing the torture curse aside even as Scott dragged Lawrence free, hauling him to his feet.

_"Ennervate!"_Sirius quickly fired the spell in Christa's direction and missed, then staggered as pain shot up his arm.

Tonks stumbled upright as Sirius struggled not to fall to his knees. Far behind him, he heard the spell:

_"Rumperis!"_

He would have recognized that voice anywhere, but power struck Sirius between the shoulder blades before he could react. A scream rose and was trapped in his throat by the pain; he could not stop himself from falling. Someone shouted his name, but blackness closed in.

--------------

"Nothing here!"

"Clear!"

Ackerly stuck his head in the last cell. "Empty!" he growled, then turned to face the others. "These cells don't look like they've been occupied in years," the son of former Auror Sam Ackerly commented, shaking his head. "But if there was no one here, who—"

He never had time to finish his question before gray hands loomed out of the darkness and fastened around his neck. Ackerly hardly had time to scream as the Dementor swooped down.

_"Expecto Patronum!" _Frank roared just a second too late.

Freezing cold and rattling breathing. Ackerly collapsed as a pack of Dementors swooped out of the storage area behind the cells—the unlikely area that the Aurors had saved to search _last_. The Aurors backed up as the Dementors closed, and Frank's Patronus faltered and then disappeared. Several others, including Alice, cast their own, but it was too little, too late—the Dementors were upon them and everything was cold—

--------------

"I think we're good," Joyce Rogers said cautiously, making Francine frown. Immediately, Kingsley arched an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged.

"Nothing," his senior replied. "But we've got one room to go. Let's not get cocky, people."

"I've got it," Kingsley rumbled, gesturing towards his students. "Come along, you two."

Binns and Edgecombe followed without complaint, but Kingsley had read the worry in Francine's eyes. Yes, Group Three had been sent where the least resistance was expected, but this was a little…simple. There had been nothing but furniture upstairs, nothing but dust. Frowning, Kingsley stepped around the corner, with both his students on his heels.

His head turned just in time to see Lucius Malfoy smile, raise his wand, and Apparate away. A split second later, Olive Hornby and Ronald Nott did the same.

"What the—" he started, then cut himself off.

Kingsley's head snapped around on instinct alone. There was a suspicious lump only a few feet away from him, right between where Kingsley stood and where Malfoy had been. _There were others, _his objective mind reported even as training set alarms off in his head. _In the other rooms._ Identical dust covered lumps. Something magical was eating at the edge of his consciousness. Something was about to happen.

_"RUN!"_

Kingsley had not the time to wait. Not the time to do anything more than warn the others and shove his students towards the exit. Still, those few seconds took too long, and even as he raised his wand to Apparate away, the Riddle House exploded.

--------------

The ceiling came down with a crash, burying Aurors and Dementors alike. Something hit Alice in the head, and she heard Nicole Madley scream—only to be cut off as a giant square of concrete crushed her. Alice reached out for her student, blind in the sudden dark and choking on dust. But her hands grasped only emptiness; Dana was nowhere to be found. "Dana?" she croaked, but the words turned into a cough.

Answering wheezes came from close by.

_Cold._

She shivered and felt bony hands touch her shoulder.

_"Go, Alice. Frank and Neville need you…and so does the world. Our world needs you far more than it needs a tired old woman."_

_"Louise…" she whispered, pleading._

_Death Eaters came around the corner, no more than thirty feet up the hallway. Both witches jumped, but it was Louise who spun quicker, aiming her wand at the intruders and firing off curses._

_"Go, Alice!"_

Alice wrenched away from the Dementor, and felt something fly through the air. A strange rattling _umph_ followed, and the creature was suddenly gone. Others were sharing equally close calls, and Alice heard someone cry out in terror.

_"Expecto Patronum!" _a female voice bellowed, and a giant white light filled the basement. The form dissipated too quickly for Alice to recognize its shape, but she did know the voice. Cornelia Crouch's Patronus drove the Dementors back, and in its light Alice saw Frank stagger to his feet.

Seeing her husband goaded Alice into action. "Everyone upstairs!" she shouted. "Reform behind the house!"

She had no idea what had made the ceiling fall in, but whatever it was, there was no way that the upper floors were safe. They had to get out, and it had to be fast, else more might die. _Poor Nicole_, Alice thought sadly, sparing one last glance for the crushed girl. Her body was in several pieces, some of which were next to—Alice swore. "Give me a head count!" she ordered, jumping over rubble to reach Missy Erickson's side.

"Got it," Frank said immediately, freeing Alice to care for Missy. Unlike her Nicole, Missy wasn't dead, but she was bleeding from her right temple and bruised all over. Nicole had taken the majority of the falling debris by sheer bad luck, and had inadvertently saved her Mentor's life by dying.

Alice forced the thought back and levitated Missy into the air. A few moments search revealed that Missy's wand was missing, and there simply wasn't further time to look.

"Where's Dawlish?" someone asked.

"Here!" Horace Smeltings piped up, waving his arms to get attention. "He's got it bad."

Jessica Avery swore.

"Is he alive?" Alice demanded, handing Missy over to Oscar and his student.

"Barely," Jessica replied. "We've got to get him out of here."

"Consider it done. I've got lead," Frank and Cornelia had already made it most of the way across the basement, but Alice could see dark shadows lurking in their wake. _Oh, Merlin…_ She forced the urge to shiver aside. Casting a Patronus Charm traditionally forced Dementors to flee, but these Dementors had nowhere to flee _to. _There was only so much space in the basement, and the Aurors were about to run out of it.

"Outside!" she bellowed, swinging towards the threat. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Dana, suddenly at her side, echoed Alice's effort, and the shadows slowed. Pounding footsteps signaled Alice that the others were moving, but unconscious comrades were hard to transport, and it would take time. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Jessica and Horace break towards a hole in the wall, balancing a floating Dawlish between them. Oscar and Waters followed with Missy, but Frank and Cornelia were still rushing for the stairs, trying to convince the Dementors to follow them and buy the others time.

Time they did not have.

--------------

"—_Mali_" Sirius wheezed as dust wormed its way up his nose, and he snorted it up immediately. He hated using Quick Heal, but it was the only option—especially with the roof caved in and the Death Eaters gone.

The leading Auror struggled to his feet, shouldering a broken bookshelf off to do so. Just seconds before the explosion, the Death Eaters had suddenly disappeared, blasting a hole in the front wall to escape. _Just like Rodolphus and the others did._ Bellatrix and her group had left before that, also fleeing. _As if they knew this would happen._Sirius felt cold, and every bone in his body ached. Voldemort had been the last to go, but even he had Apparated out moments before the roof had come crashing down.

_We've been betrayed, _Sirius knew. But there still wasn't time to think of it.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, coughing again. Someone moaned in response.

"I think so," Tonks mumbled from his right, sounding groggy and dazed. However, the pain left her voice a mere second later. "Bill!"

The young Auror bent over her Mentor, who Sirius could barely see through the settling debris. Still, there was no missing the darker shade of red that suddenly stained Bill's hair, or the bloody gash that extended down the right side of his skull. Shiny white bone showed through the opening.

"Conscious," Christa gasped, struggling to her feet with Lawrence's help. "Both of us."

Terry Scott groaned from beside Sirius, who swore. Terry's face was split open, his nose was sliced in two, and blood disfigured his normally freckled features. He was the moaning one, Sirius realized. Moaning and bleeding.

_"Stupefy," _Sirius whispered, doing the only thing that could be done. He followed up the spell with a Blood Clotting Charm, but knew it wasn't enough. Clearing his throat, he turned towards the others.

"Through the hole," he commanded, pointing at the opening Narcissa and the others had left. "Protect our wounded, and prepare for battle."

The calm in his voice surprised even Sirius, for he didn't _feel _calm—though he was feeling a great deal less pain than he should have been. He ached, yet the Quick Heal seemed to have somehow solved the rest of his problems. And he did feel calm, in an adrenaline-induced kind of way. _Prepare for battle_, he wanted to snort at his own words. With four mobile Aurors and two critically wounded to carry, they had no choice but to be ready.

Shaking the thoughts away, Sirius rose to lead the others out of the Riddle House and into hell.

--------------

"Cornelia!"

The first thing Alice saw upon stumbling out of the dusty blackness was her husband's student collapsing to the ground underneath Frank's flying tackle. The girl's long brown hair flew everywhere as she collapsed, but Alice caught a look of pain flash across her face. Frank immediately rolled aside, but it was already too late—the darkness had caught them.

And even when Alice started to turn, she knew that she had no time.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ three voices shouted, and white light surrounded Alice. An unearthly screech filled the air, making her instinctively clap her hands over her ears. Unfortunately, the effort did not help, and Alice had nearly let go of her wand in the process. _And you're supposed to be experienced! _she raged at herself, wanting to smash her head into the ground. But by the time she finished that thought, the screech had ended, and the light was gone.

The Dementors were gone. Alice stumbled uncertainly, echoes of nightmares flirting with her mind. _No time for that!_ she snapped at herself, pulling her consciousness together. Alice turned her head so fast that it wrenched her neck. Eloise Hauntings, Simon Edgecombe, and Joyce Rogers sprinted up as Frank helped Cornelia to her feet; all three Aurors looked battered and shaken, but concentration kept their faces grim. Not far behind, Alice noticed Francine lying in the grass, as still as—

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly, not even bothering to thank the others. Thanks could come later—if they survived.

"Two shattered arms," Joyce replied, following Alice's gaze and nodding towards Francine. "She's unconscious, but she'll live."

"What about the others?" Frank demanded, still helping his student stand. Cornelia's face was tight with pain, and she'd splinted her right leg, but her eyes remained bright.

"We don't know," Hauntings replied quietly, biting her lower lip. "We only had a few seconds' warning, and everyone ran…and then the house exploded."

For the first time since the blast, Alice turned to look at the Riddle House. The once grand manor was now a smoldering ruin; as Alice watched, a second explosion rocked the night and the entire second floor collapsed down upon itself with a crash. The library seemed to disintegrate at the same time, sending wood, stone, and mortar flying outwards. There were numerous holes in the remaining walls, and sections of the house were still burning. The roof was in shambles, scattered around the yard, and the door Alice and the others had escaped through had completely disappeared. Hopefully, the Dementors were trapped behind the crumbled walls, but only time would tell. Even so, viewing the destruction made Alice wince and pray that there were no Aurors left inside. If so, there would be no survivors.

Taking a shaky breath, Alice glanced around. There were bodies strewn across the grass, some moving and many not. But there were live people rushing in their direction, and Alice suddenly realized that her group had blundered straight into a group of Death Eaters, led by Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Watch out!" Dana cried, and Alice felt a momentary twinge of guilt. Reeling from shock, she'd forgotten to make sure her student was all right, forgotten the most sacred tenant of Mentorship: _Never stop watching. _Fortunately, Dana was a resourceful girl, and perfectly capable of caring for herself…and for her Mentor, it seemed.

The seven Aurors dove to the ground as curses arched out at them, and Alice realized that the fun was only beginning.

--------------

"Shit!" Tonks swore, crouching at her Mentor's side. _If I'd thought this was bad before… _They'd both been thrown by the second blast, and she'd ended up cart wheeling away from the Riddle House, only to end up on top of an overgrown rosebush. The sharp thorns, however, were the least of her concerns, and she sprinted to Bill's side. Her knees landed in his blood.

Bill's head was split open from the left ear to the middle of the part in his long red hair. Blood pulsated out of the crack at an alarming rate, bright and red and fresh. It stained the ground, her trousers, his hair…Tonks shook herself out of shock and forced her rolling stomach to behave. _This is hardly a time to get sick!_ she told herself firmly. The sight of blood had always made her want to vomit, but her stomach could wait.

_"Arcus!" _she snapped, casting the first spell the came to mind. A Sealing Spell wasn't exactly meant to knit gaping head wounds, but it worked and the bleeding stopped. Only then did Tonks dare look around herself.

A very confused Fred Randolph hauled himself to his feet only an arm's length away from Tonks, staring at her like he'd never seen her before. She started to speak—then alarms went off in her head. _Wasn't Fred part of Group Two? _Tonks stared back, on the edge of panic. _Wasn't he supposed to be upstairs?_

"You—" she started.

His eyes were as big as bludgers. "I—"

"Get down!"

Sirius' voice thundered out as he rose from a smoke-coated spot in the gloom, stunning first one Death Eater, and then two. He twisted away from a curse, reaching down to drag Tom Lawrence to his feet with the other hand. Soon, their little knot of Aurors numbered five conscious and three unconscious—a bad ratio even if Death Eaters _weren't _coming on fast.

Yet they were. Led by a cold-looking Narcissa Malfoy, ten Death Eaters closed in on their isolated group. Goyle Senior, Crabbe Senior, Paul Parkinson, Samuel Chang, Osborne Blackwood, Thomas Everard, Daniel Frobisher and both Baddocks were firing curses at Tonks and the others, which made the Aurors dive for cover. Except there wasn't any—even Tonks' rosebush was flattened by now. She heard someone scream in pain, and then Leora Baddock collapsed, felled by Christa Gambledon's Reductor Curse. The uneven exchange continued for several further seconds before Sirius' voice rang out again:

"Get the wounded back!" he ordered, gesturing towards the Riddle House's wide stone wall. Unlike the manor, it was still intact, but that could be changed in a moment.

"Should we blast our way through?" Tonks yelled back, hardly hearing her own voice over the din.

"Not yet!"

Quickly, Tonks, Randolph, and Lawrence dragged the others back; Bill's head had stopped bleeding, but he was still in bad shape. Likewise were Terry Scott and Clara Smythe; Smythe looked like her back was broken and Scott's face was almost split in two. There was hardly time to think between nestling the wounded against the wall and diving back into the fray—Tonks had never cast spells so quickly in her life, and felt exhausted by the time she reached Sirius' side. Only then did she realize that he and Gambledon had been holding the ten Death Eaters back on their own…and that there were more enemies beyond the first group.

_"Extundo!__ Capitiscindo! Contegorum!_ Crap!" Tonks cast the curses in quick succession and ducked as a Killing Curse nearly took her head off after Randolph ducked. _"Stupefy!" _It didn't hit.

Taking a chance, Tonks paused to glance around. The mansion was crumbling before her eyes—there was no time to look at that—and Death Eaters were _everywhere._ A set of red eyes stood out from the rest, and Tonks abruptly realized that Voldemort stood between the two groups of Death Eaters, the latter of which appeared to be battling more Aurors. The Dark Lord was taking potshots at both groups, and as red light lit the sky, Tonks identified Avery and Smeltings among the distant Aurors. They were just on the other side of the gravel drive, but for all it mattered, those five Aurors could have been on the other side of the globe. They, too, had wounded comrades, Tonks noticed distantly, spotting Kingsley Shacklebolt staggering towards two prone figures. Half of her instructor's body was covered in blood, and he seemed to be missing his right arm—

"Tonks!"

Had Gambledon not called her name, she'd have lost her head, and the young Auror wrenched her attention back to the battle. They were falling back steadily, now, and out of the corner of her eye she could see more Death Eaters approaching—just two, but they were Mulciber and Flint, Voldemort's pet assassins.

"Sirius!" she screamed his name, knowing who they had to be aiming for, and it was almost too late. The Aurors' leader threw himself aside as green light flashed in the air, landing directly in the path of someone's Strike Curse and being blasted straight off the ground again. He flew a dozen feet in the air before coming down, and Tonks thought she heard something crack.

But before she could act, he rolled up into a crouch and fired off a string of curses at the newcomers, hitting first Flint, and then Mulciber. A flick of his wand sent a giant tree flying through the air, but both Death Eaters jumped around it before the oak could take them out at the knees. Trying to watch as she targeted Goyle with a Decapitation Curse (what a tempting and large target he was), Tonks saw the assassins form a joint shield and keep coming. Seconds later, green light broke through that barrier and Mulciber fell.

Sirius was turning almost before the Killing Curse struck. "Pull them left!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and bolting forward. His long strides ate up the ground at a dizzying rate.

"What are you doing?" Christa yelled, but Tonks saw where he was heading. Sirius was running for Voldemort.

--------------

"Alice!" Frank tackled her to the ground as green light flashed overhead, but was gone before she could even think about thanking her husband. The curse had been aimed by Rodolphus Lestrange, who Frank was now dueling with in earnest, trading deadly spells with and dodging every which way.

Spitting out dirt and blood, Alice rolled to her feet once more, risking yet another look around. Soon, she wished that she had not—Cornelia was still staggering, and Alice had no idea where the rest of her group had gone. Whitenack, Waters, Avery, and Smeltings were still nowhere to be seen. She hoped that they'd escaped with the injured Dawlish and Erickson, but there was no way to be sure. There was only time to fight.

Frank dove right even as Lestrange jumped behind Melinda Smith, who yowled in pain when Frank's Shocking Spell hit. Frank yelled something obscene at Lestrange, making Alice smile, but she soon had other problems on her mind. Problems named Anton Dolohov, William Jugson, and Bradley Jugson. All three were busy trying to cut Alice off from the others, and she had to act fast.

_"Rumperis!"_The Bone Breaker missed, but it made the younger Jugson jump aside, bumping into his father. William snarled, and Alice barely managed to duck his retaliation curse in time, aiming for his head with a Reductor and missing. _"Vexameum!"_This time, she tried for Dolohov, but the spell went wide of its mark.

_There are too many targets! _she raged helplessly. _Too many targets and not enough time._

_"Stupefy!"_

Frank crumbled, and Alice leapt up to take his place. Behind her, Cornelia bent over to awaken her Mentor, but was almost decapitated for her troubles.

There were seven—now six—Aurors against eight Death Eaters—where had Mulciber and Flint gone? _No time to wonder—_and they were holding their own, but it was not enough. In the distance, she knew that her colleagues were outnumbered, and they had wounded to care for.

The only problem was that she didn't dare run until the others did. And until Sirius gave the word, all she could do was fight.

--------------

_"Everbero!"_ Waters thundered, standing straight and proud amid the carnage.

"You moron!" Oscar screeched, grabbing for his student and missing by at least a foot. The five of them were facing at least twice as many Death Eaters, and Voldemort was striding in their direction. This was no time for Waters to make himself into a target!

_"Reducto!"_Amanda Pieters' face was tight as she cast the curse, but that did not subtract from its power. Waters crumbled to the ground, hardly even making a sound in pain.

"Calvin!" Oscar leapt to his student's side and deflected the next spell—a Summoning Charm cast by a laughing Bellatrix Lestrange. _Nobody's taking Aurors prisoner while I'm around, _Oscar thought grimly. _Especially not a student of mine!_ Bellatrix tried again, and Oscar attempted to retaliate with a Strike Spell, but she batted it aside with ridiculous ease, still laughing.

_"Stupefy!" _Jessica tried to his left, but that didn't hit either, though it did distract Bellatrix long enough for Oscar to drag Waters back.

He didn't have the energy to spare for a levitation charm, and probably wouldn't have cast one even if he did. If Calvin was dirty and sore when he woke up, that was the least of his problems—at least it might teach him to keep his head down next time. "I am so going to kill you," Oscar muttered darkly, pulling his student behind the others' impromptu line of defense. "Tomorrow. If we live."

Growling under his breath, he raised his wand. _"Ennervate."_ Immediately, Calvin's eyes fluttered open, and they were full of pain. The younger man tried to move, but his arm flopped uselessly by his side, and Oscar could tell that he was struggling to breathe.

"Damn. _Adficios__ Vos_." There had to be internal injuries, but color flooded back into Calvin's face. "Cast a Quick Heal on yourself. It'll hurt like hell, but you'll be able to move," he ordered.

"I thought that was supposed to be for emergencies only—" Calvin started.

Oscar barked out a short laugh. "I'd say this qualifies. Now, let's get back into the fray."

--------------

He never even saw the Death Eaters behind him until disaster struck. Sirius was on his feet and running almost before he realized it, with only one thought in mind: _I can end this. I can end this now._

Voldemort's back was to him, but Sirius did not care much for honor. He was certain that the Dark Lord would turn before the last moment, anyway, and if he didn't, well, victory was victory. An end was all that mattered.

Less than fifty yards separated them, and Sirius was moving fast. His wand came up, zeroing in on his target, and Voldemort started to turn. _Too late._ The spell was on Sirius' lips when his world exploded in pain.

And all he was conscious of was the laughter once he hit the ground. Dark and cold laughter. Pain and blackness. Sirius felt broken bones grind together as he rolled, but he did not even want to know what the injuries were. Without thinking, he cast a Quick Heal on himself, stacking it on top of the one he'd cast only a few minutes before—_has it really been that little time?—_and praying that they would hold. Energy flared through his body, and Sirius staggered to his feet.

He was caught in the crossfire. Half of the group he'd been facing before had spun to engage him, and Voldemort was laughing while _his _companions spun to do the same. Sirius threw a quick curse in Frobisher's direction and watched the short man stumble and fall face first into the ground, but he was up fast enough. Goyle and Warren Baddock kept firing curses from his left, and suddenly Bellatrix, Travers, and both Moons were closing from the right. Sirius swore and dove, but there were too many wands tracking him, and something hit again.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _he snarled, aiming for Bellatrix and missing. As the curse sailed by her, it almost struck Jessica Avery, but the Auror managed to twist aside just in time.

_"Rumperis!"_

_"Pulverulentus!"_

_"Iugulra!"_

_"Crucio!"_

_"Vexameum!"_

Sirius tried to roll aside, but there wasn't time. The Throat Cutting Spell was the only one that missed, and it tore a gash in his right arm that immediately made his fingers go numb. His wand toppled from his hand, and Sirius' world exploded in bone-shattering and shaking pain. To make matters even worse, a cloud of dust formed around him that made him cough and choke, struggling impossibly to breathe. From outside the dust came another Bone Breaker, and Sirius felt ribs burst. Helplessly, he screamed.

Every nerve was on fire—it felt as if his bones were trying to jerk out of his skin, as if his limbs were trying to spasm their way off of his body. Blackness edged in on his vision and dust crept up his nostrils. It hurt to cough, hurt to _think_. Beyond it all, though, he felt Voldemort approaching, and he heard the laughter. Cold laughter, telling him that he was out of time.

He could not focus. All that mattered was pain.

_"No!"_

He shouted the word out loud, forcing himself to concentrate before he could die. All of a sudden, the world snapped into focus, and the dust cloud diminished. The searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse went away. Slowly, the world came into focus.

The night sky was a rainbow of colors: purple, red, blue, black, green, and white all at the same time. Bits of silver and orange flame worked their way in and out of the collage, and smoke sought to blot it all out. Shouts and screams filled the air, some in pain and some in triumph. Sirius was vaguely aware of the battle that continued to rage around him, but everything hurt. His body would not respond—even breathing was hell, and he could only lay there and cough. Blood came up, spraying up his nose and into his eyes. Sirius blinked, but it seemed to take all of his strength.

Voldemort was still approaching. Twenty feet, perhaps, was all that separated the two.

"It is time, Sirius," the Dark Lord said softly. "Time to end it all."

The words cleared the fog from his mind, and Sirius rose to his feet. Movement burned, and his body did not want to respond—but it did not matter. _Show no pain._ Sirius knew that he had internal injuries, knew that his body had rejected the Quick Heal and was trying to die, but… Nothing mattered but the moment.

Voldemort stopped and stared.

Sirius opened his right hand, and felt broken fingers protest. _Show no pain. _His wand jumped into his open palm.

Fifteen feet apart, the two faced each other in silence.

Breathing was impossible, but then again, so was this. His vision swam, but Sirius forced himself to be still. He simply stood, and waited. Waited not for an end, but for something. Air rattled in his chest, and Sirius knew that he did not have much time. Still, he waited. There was only one way to end this, and they both knew what that would be. _Show no pain. _He did not know if he could move through the agony, but the one thing he was certain of was that Voldemort did not know, either.

The Dark Lord nodded slightly—almost a show of respect—and Sirius realized what it meant seconds too late. Too late. The world exploded again, and his body twisted around as the curses hit.

There were too many of them to count. Bone Breaker. Strength Stealer. Cruciatus and Cruciatus again. Hammer Curse. Choking Spell. Dark Body Lock. Carnificius, just for variety. Imperius, which bounced away when deflected by something else. More and more. He could not identify them.

Desperate, Sirius forced his body to roll, not even having the strength to scream in pain. He wasn't even sure if he was breathing or not, but he rolled…and the spells tracked him. Distantly, he noticed that Voldemort had not targeted him. The other was merely watching. Watching and waiting.

--------------

Tonks' head snapped around as a dozen curses arched out and Sirius collapsed. Almost every Death Eater in the vicinity had turned away from the Aurors to target their leader, and Voldemort was hardly a dozen feet away from Sirius—to her left, Christa crumbled to the ground, clutching her ribcage and dropping her wand.

Sirius rolled away, but the Death Eaters tracked him. Randolph managed to stun Warren Baddock, but there were still so many.

"We've got to get him out of there!" Lawrence shouted at her, but what could they do? They weren't even full Aurors

Tonks glanced around frantically, but Randolph was busy trying to help Christa and everyone else that was senior to her was unconscious—except for Sirius, and he was still down, not moving now…

_'Anyone can order a retreat,' _Bill had hammered into them during training. _When things get too bad, when you _know _that we can't win, you just do what you have to do. No matter what._ Deep breath. Duck a curse, and raise the wand.

A split second later, a giant _gong _sounded in the air, over and over again, for twenty seconds. Pink light flashed in the sky, silhouetting the moon in a strangely bright color, and Tonks saw heads turn. The Pink Gong, Bill had called it, and she'd wondered where he'd gotten his sense of humor, but it worked. The Pink Gong was the Case Zulu for this mission, when everyone had to get out and get out fast.

Even as the gong sounded, Sirius staggered to his feet again. _How is he--?_

"Let's go!" Randolph cried, probably not knowing who sent the message. Moments later, he was gone. But Tonks hesitated, watching Sirius twist right, moving entirely too smoothly for what had to be wrong with him, and send a curse arching in Voldemort's direction.

"Now, Tonks!" Christa gasped, yanking on her arm. "Grab your Mentor and go!"

A curse struck Sirius and he stumbled, and then raised his wand. Within the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

It was all the encouragement Tonks needed. Rushing to Bill's side, she grabbed his hand and his wand, and Buddy-Apparated the two of them to Avalon.

---------------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Fast update, eh? Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and—of course—for reading. I'll be writing like crazy tonight, so look for **PR41: The Circle Broken **to come out soon. Stay tuned!


	41. Chapter 41: The Circle Broken

**Promises Remembered**

**The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

* * *

**

_Chapter Forty-One: The Circle Broken

* * *

_

**HERO FALLEN: **

**SIRIUS BLACK LIES NEAR DEATH**

October 6, 1992

_by _Charles Li, _Special Correspondent_

Upon Avalon, the Aurors' island of mystery, the Wizarding World's

latest hero lies dying. With St. Mungo's healers being rushed

to the island and seven other Aurors already confirmed dead, it

seems that Wizarding Britain's ancient protectors are finished.

At least eight additional Aurors lay critically wounded, yet Black

appears to be the worst off.

Trainee Healer Augustus Pye was one of the first summoned to

Avalon when word of the Aurors' heartbreaking defeat reached

St. Mungo's. "They're a mess," the young wizard said when sent

back to the hospital to fetch supplies. "Nearly every one of them

is injured, but Black is the worst… He looks dead on his feet and

shoved us towards the other Aurors first. It's as if he knows he's

going to die."

Rumors creeping off of Avalon indicate that Black faced He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named once again, surviving the experience by a

hair. Accompanying him were every single active duty Auror,

save Hestia Jones and Jason Clearwater (who are currently

escorting Minister Pettigrew on a diplomatic mission to an

undisclosed country). This massive force attacked one of He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's oldest strongholds: the Riddle

House in Little Hangleton.

Attacked and failed. Seven dead. Nine seriously wounded,

including the man who has been hailed as the Wizarding World's

best and last hope. Where will it go from here? Who will die?

Should Black fall, who will pick up the mantle he must drop?

Dead

Striker Williamson

Mucia Coleman

Alain Brittingham

Edward Ackerly

Randall O'Keely

Erika Goldstein

Nicole Madley

Critically Wounded

Sirius Black

Francine Hoyt

Derek Dawlish

Kingsley Shacklebolt

William Weasley

Terry Scott

Gabriel Binns

Clara Smythe

Missy Erickson

--------------

"You WHAT?" Alice Longbottom thundered, cornering the hapless trainee healer. Pye stood against the stone wall of EmergApp, cowering as the brown-haired witch twisted her wand in tighter against his neck.

"Alice…" her husband warned tiredly. "It isn't worth it."

"The hell it isn't!" she snapped, swinging to glare at Pye again. "What in the name of Merlin were you _thinking, _boy? The _Daily Prophet?_"

"At least it wasn't Skeeter," Dana muttered darkly, looking almost as unhappy as her Mentor and not moving an inch to help the healer.

"Ally…" Slowly, Frank reached out and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, forcing her wand arm down and pulling her away. "Let the boy do his job. The article's probably in print already, and all yelling at him can do is endanger the wounded."

She slumped tiredly against him without argument. "I just…Wait a minute. Where did Sirius go?"

--------------

One was blood red, and the other silver—neither of which were safe colors for potions in the Wizarding World. Things that bubbled were much more normal, but potions that _kept _bubbling an hour after they'd stopped brewing were rather unique. So were potions that took an entire week at high temperatures to brew.

Sirius sighed and sank down onto a stool, feeling bones crunch and crack as he did so. It hurt, but at this point he was almost beyond pain—little mattered. His heightened senses told Sirius that his body was disintegrating, falling apart…and he could feel every moment of it. Every time he coughed, blood came up. Every time he moved, the world spun.

_I'm dying. I really am._

He had not thought it would be this painful. Really, he hadn't. Every damn author wrote about how _peaceful _dying had to be—as if they knew anything. It wasn't peaceful, and there certainly wasn't any white light shining in his eyes. Every now and then, blackness would eat at the edges of his vision, making Sirius sway dizzily on his stool, but there wasn't anything white or pretty about it. And there wasn't anything soft, or cushiony, or squishy either. There was only pain.

Still, he stared at the potions, wondering if it was worth it. That was an odd thought for a man who had spent ten years fighting death back on a daily basis, living for friends he'd sworn to protect and whom he would never abandon. But was _this _worth the price he'd have to pay? Perhaps he should go see the healers. There was a chance that they might heal him without such a terrible cost.

_And what then?_Sirius berated himself. _Do I wait a week, or maybe two, and then do this anyway?_ The potions were still bubbling, even the one that didn't have a name. That one, of course, didn't mean nearly as much as the Augeosensus Solution, but it was still dangerous. Any potion that included a mixture of powdered Unicorn horn and Muggle blood was bound to be something a sane wizard wouldn't take. _Yes, and a _smart _wizard is going to take the one that is made up of phoenix blood, cobra venom, black hellebore and liquid aconite_, Sirius thought caustically, wanting to slap himself.

The room spun, and he realized that he was drifting. _And I don't even know if the Augeosensus Solution will heal me, _Sirius realized abruptly. _Only that it's _supposed _to_ _be regenerative and heighten my senses. _As if the Conmalesco hadn't done _that_ already, even if it was only supposed to increase the flow of magic he could feel and shorten his reaction time. That potion had worked nicely, of course, if one disregarded the consequences.

"You don't have time for this, Padfoot," he whispered to himself, wishing that the important decisions in life could be just a little more simple.

He coughed again, spraying blood all over the work table. A little bit of it crept into the Augeosensus Solution, but from all Sirius had read about that one, a bit of blood certainly wouldn't hurt. _In fact, it'll probably make the damn thing more potent._ Sirius wheezed, and felt something rattle in his chest. _Bad._ He almost chuckled at his own stupid thought, but the laughter became lodged in his throat and would not come out. Coughing more did not help, and the world spun faster. Blinking had no effect.

"Get it over with," he wheezed, and reached for the first potion. He missed.

A third cough made Sirius double over in pain, and he grabbed for the Augeosensus Potion. Damn the consequences—he'd have to deal with them later. Unless it killed him, he'd be a good deal better off than he was at the moment.

It tasted like acid going down…but maybe that was just his bleeding throat. When it had started bleeding, Sirius had no idea, but it had to be. Nothing else burned like that.

His eyes watered, and Sirius collapsed.

By the time he hit the floor, his body was numb. Blackness came soon after.

--------------

He awoke when the pounding on the door reached a feverish pitch, matched by the screaming hammer beating at the insides of his skull. Sirius groaned and tasted stone, only then realizing that he was face down on the floor of Lab Six. On the floor and shaking.

_Bang. Bang. BANG. _"Sirius?" Alice Longbottom's voice, frayed and worried. "Sirius!"

Groaning, Sirius picked himself up off of the floor, spitting out dust. His arms shook with the effort of raising his upper body, and the world threatened to spin once more—and then slowed. Stilled. He blinked and hauled himself to his knees.

_"SIRIUS!"_Frank bellowed from somewhere outside the door, and Sirius finally found his voice.

"I'm here." He coughed and tasted the Augeosensus Solution all over again. It burned.

"Open the door!" Alice shouted, sounding frightened and angry.

Shakily, Sirius rose, almost tripping over the stool on the way up. He started to turn towards the door, then caught sight of the other potion, still bubbling on the worktable. Deep breath. _Face it now or hide forever._ There wasn't much of a choice to make, really. If the Augeosensus Solution hadn't killed him, a simple—if dark—memory enhancer certainly wouldn't.

"Give me a sec," he mumbled, his mouth dry. He doubted the potion would help any, but that didn't matter. Not anymore. Sirius downed the potion in a gulp, then walked unsteadily towards the locked door. He was surprised how easy walking turned out to be.

"Open it now, Sirius." Frank's voice was colder than Sirius had ever heard it before, frozen and demanding.

"Coming." His mouth was still dry, and his steps unsteady. There was not, however, much pain, and that was different. _How long was I out?_ Sirius wondered tiredly, feeling exhausted but better. Breathing no longer burned.

He opened the door and came face to face with two angry Longbottoms. Obviously, they'd been pounding on the door for awhile.

"Hi," he said weakly.

"You're healed," Alice said abruptly, and Sirius unconsciously glanced down at his body. He started to open his mouth, not sure what excuse he was going to use, but—

Suddenly, two wands were in his face, and Sirius realized that he hadn't cast the concealment spells he was always careful to use before employing Dark Magic. The taint was seeping around him so strongly that it made his skin crawl, and judging from the looks on both Frank and Alice's faces, they felt the same way. Alice's eyes widened, and she started to speak, but her husband beat her to it.

"What have you done to yourself, Sirius?" Frank demanded.

His heart was beating at an abnormally _steady _rate, nothing like before. "Do you mind pulling your wands out of my face?" Sirius asked quietly.

"Yes," both replied at once, and he shrugged.

"Have it your way."

"What have you done, Sirius?" Frank repeated harshly.

The words touched his lips—for a moment, he almost _wanted _to tell the truth, to someone, to anyone, just to get it out in the open. A desperate longing for someone to understand rose in Sirius' heart, and he hesitated as it hit him; the feeling was alien, out of place. Yet he suddenly wanted to reach out to _these_ people…not to those whom he should have spoken. _I am sorry, _he thought abruptly. _So sorry._

"Survived," his mouth said for him.

"How?" Alice demanded.

Sirius tried to smile, but his face would not form the expression. "Old magic," he said softly.

"Dark magic." Frank's eyes were wide.

"Yes."

He shouldered his way between the Longbottoms, and neither hexed Sirius as he walked away.

--------------

"This is it, then," Jean said softly, shaking Peter's hand.

The smaller man nodded. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

"You will." The French Auror grinned suddenly. "And much sooner than you think."

"Wha—"

"Wait and see, Peter," Jean interrupted him gently. "Or, as a famous French author would have said, 'wait and hope'."

"Good words," Peter replied, finally feeling as if he'd _accomplished _something. Time and time again, he'd asked James why _he _was doing this job. Sure, he was one of the most experienced negotiators left at the Ministry, but he was hardly the most persuasive. Now, though…they were here. And it was done.

"Better still were yours earlier." The other smiled. "And I apologize for acting as I did…but we had to be sure. You understand?"

"I do." Jones and Clearwater were shifting impatiently behind him—ever since hearing of the Riddle House Raid, both Aurors had been worried and jumpy. Peter understood, of course; the news had shocked him, too, and had an even more devastating impact upon the French. Within moments of Peter's explanation of the Mark, Jean had simply _decided _that Les Aurors Spéciales would aid their British counterparts, and Peter had then realized how much power the _commander _of all French Aurors held in their world.

Président Legarde had come around soon after that, and now their collective feet were set firmly on the road of cooperation. For once, Wizarding Britain did not have to fight on their own. This would not be another war against Grindelwald, which all came down to one man standing alone against the darkness.

_In a storm_, Remus had said, and he'd confessed to Peter once that it frightened him to death. Just once, the three untouched Marauders had met—deep in the night and terrified that Sirius would see it as a betrayal of sorts. Peter had Apparated back from France to do so, sneaking out behind Jones and Clearwater's backs (both seemed to think of him as some slow-minded wimp, which was just fine by Peter). And two nights ago, they had made a choice. They had to talk to Sirius, and they had to do it soon.

Peter swallowed, trying not to think about the copy of the _Daily Prophet _that had arrived only seconds before their final meeting. He hadn't had time to read anything but the headline, and worry made his chest constrict. _I hope we have time, _he thought desperately. _Please give us the chance._

"Bonne chance, Peter," Jean said, letting go of his hand. "And I hope your friend recovers."

"Thanks." Now he had to force the smile. "I hope so too."

--------------

Fudge was already in full swing, though he'd been in the study for less than two minutes. "I can't believe you let this happen! What wereyou _thinking_, allowing that arrogant, hotheaded imbecile to—"

"That arrogant and hotheaded imbecile being me, I assume," he said lightly, letting the door click shut at his back.

"Sirius!" James' head came up immediately, and some of the painful patience he'd been wearing disappeared immediately. Obviously, the Minister of Magic had been enjoying another _talk _with his _favorite _department head, and looked too exhausted to bother fighting back.

"Beautiful morning, Prongs. Why aren't you outside enjoying it?" Sirius replied amicably, then jerked his head towards Fudge. "And why isn't _this _bastard there as opposed to being in my house?"

Fudge's mouth dropped open, but James snorted grimly. "Good question."

"Yes. It is." Sirius was still stiff, and felt strangely cold for early October—his walk down Grimmauld Place had left him shivering, despite the fact that the weather was rather temperate. Still, he didn't _like _Fudge, and in Sirius' present state, that was enough reason to be angry.

But he checked the feeling back with an effort, knowing that James didn't need two department heads getting into a pissing contest, especially now. Doing so was hard, though; the stiffness translated into pain, and Sirius was more exhausted than he'd like to admit. He'd been up for over thirty hours, and his hands wanted to shake with pain and fatigue, wanted to reach out and strangle someone because they could. _I need sleep_, Sirius thought distantly, but knew that wasn't exactly true. He needed a lot more than sleep.

"Are you all right?" James asked quietly, studying Sirius closely.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Stiff…but surviving. It wasn't as bad as the _Prophet _reported." _It was worse._

James seemed to read those words straight out of his eyes and started to ask, but Fudge wasn't cooperating with Sirius' attempts to be polite. "What are _you _doing here?" the smaller man demanded. "We were attempting to have a private meeting—"

"Last I checked, the name on the house's title read 'Black,'" Sirius retorted coldly, struggling to rein his temper back before it jumped completely out of the cage.

"That doesn't give you a right—"

"It gives me the right to do whatever the hell I please," Sirius cut him off. "And I do believe you were just discussing _my _Aurors, so by all means, please continue. Do tell me what you think."

Fudge should have listened to the warning in his voice. Even as the words came out, Sirius knew that he should stop himself, but somehow he could not. Nor did he want to.

"Well, if you insist, I do believe that youled the Aurors into an unmitigated disaster," Fudge replied importantly. "Seven dead—"

"Eight. Clara Smythe died this morning."

"There you have it! If someone doesn't stop you, you'll destroy all that the Aurors have fought to rebuild! You're almost single-handedly turning—" Fudge cut himself off as Sirius stepped close to him.

"What?" he asked softly, looking down into the other's suddenly frightened eyes. "Turning the world over to Voldemort? Is that what you were going to say?"

Fudge whimpered. "I…"

"You were just leaving," Sirius continued.

"I…" The politician mumbled something else unintelligible, then bolted, having to try twice before he managed to open the door. Sirius watched him go, but did not bother to follow. He was sure that Fudge would find his own way out.

"Sirius…" The soft voice startled him; he hadn't even noticed when James wheeled himself out from behind the desk and close to Sirius' side. "Are you sure you're okay?"

The deep breath was suddenly hard to suck in and let out. "Yes…"

"We need to talk," James whispered.

"Yeah," Sirius breathed, closing his eyes as he spoke. Those were the words he'd been dreading for months, but he had known they must come. He swallowed. "But not now."

He couldn't deal with this now, not this way. There was too much to sort out in his own head to explain to James, too much mystery and too much power. Sirius had made a mistake and he knew it, but at least it had been a conscious one. _At least this is my choice._ Still the temper bubbled beneath the surface, and he felt the change beginning.

"Tonight," James replied immediately.

Sirius shook his head. "Tomorrow."

"Remus and Peter—"

"I know. But just the four of us. Tomorrow night."

Suddenly, a hand landed on his arm. "We're here for you, Sirius. No matter what."

"Tell me that tomorrow."

--------------

Sirius returned to Avalon feeling even more drained than he had when he left. There was something exhausting about talking to his best friend, something mind numbing about acting normal. He had a headache.

Unfortunately, the first encounter on Avalon was no better. And these people did not trust Sirius by default—at least not any more. Not like this.

It started when Sirius reached inside his robes and felt the presence of that folded piece of parchment. He'd managed to forget all about it—having miraculously managed _not _to coat this set of robes in blood, which would have made him change clothes and probably forget all about the paper they'd found inside the Riddle House. At the time, more important matters had intruded, but now… Without even stepping outside the Primary Apparation Center, Sirius pulled the parchment free of his inner pocket and began to unfold it.

The vibrant blue of water was the first feature to catch his eye, and immediately Sirius knew that he was looking at a Wizarding map of the oldest and finest kind. The parchment and the vivid colors gave it away before he even started to study the landscape; today, mapmakers rarely bothered with such detail. Their lines were never so fine, never so _hand drawn. _Wands did the work these days, blasted lines onto paper in a matter of seconds so that the mapmaker could move on. But this…_this _was different. Hand worked. Handmade. Absolutely beautiful.

A jagged coastline ran around the bottom right hand side of the page, curling up and down and bleeding off of the edge of the map. As Sirius watched, the waves almost seemed to lap gently against the shore as if he were looking down from above instead of at a simple piece of parchment. The grass beyond the rocky beach—some of which looked like a cliff—was lush and green. It appeared to be long and dancing in a slight breeze. No road or path marred the green ocean; there was simply a gray stone house perhaps a mile from the ragged cliff's edge.

A palace, more like. Imposing and grand, the "house" resembled a stronghold straight out of medieval times. For a moment, the castle reminded him of Hogwarts, the only castle Sirius had ever spent significant time in, but it was simpler. Darker. More sinister, somehow, for all its beauty. There was a great statue in the courtyard, made of marble, but it was too distant to identify.

Curiously, Sirius reached out and lightly touched fingers to the map—not his wand; old maps did not work that way. They required human contact, human _thought_. In many ways, Sirius had based his contribution to the Marauder's Map on ancient mapmaking. His father had collected old Wizarding maps, and as a child it had been the one thing Sirius could share with the stern head of his family. He'd grown away from the maps, which he now regretted, but the knowledge had stayed within him. And he knew quality when he saw it.

The castle's image filled the page, details coming into focus and lines becoming sharper. The structure was even larger than he'd thought, with a beautifully crafted stone wall surrounding the castle and standing at least twenty feet high. But it was the statue that caught his eye, the exquisitely carved image of a man that seemed almost alive.

"Bloody hell." He was too shocked to say anything more profane.

The statue was of Salazar Slytherin.

--------------

"It is a pleasure, Minister Potter," the Frenchman said, bowing slightly. The grace with which he moved made unfair resentment flare in James—yet again, he wished that _he _could do so, but being in that frustrating wheelchair kept James from doing almost anything he wanted to.

It also made Apparating hellishly difficult, but he'd made it to Paris anyway. Peter had shown up a few minutes after Sirius (both had been darn lucky to find James awake at six in the morning), but Fudge had woken him up with a Fire Call at five thirty, and James was still quite bitter over that. Thankfully, one of the few things he liked about France was the absence of Cornelius Fudge.

"Thank you," was all James could say, feeling the giddy kind of euphoria that only worked when you were completely exhausted yet excited beyond belief. Still, he grinned and did not care about regaining his composure. "Thank you for everything."

Legarde smiled a bit sheepishly. "It was time."

"Yes, Monsieur le President, it was," James agreed. "Now, though, I think we have a beginning."

"A good beginning," the other added, and James read resolve in his eyes. "Please. We are allies now, in all that comes. Call me Eugène."

"James."

The two leaders smiled at each other, and James saw fear lurking behind the resolve—but all men feared. Those who overcame it were stronger for the effort, and Eugène Legarde had done so. Unlike James, the French president was no warrior; he had risen to his office through diplomacy and political successes, not as one of the few constants in a two decade long war. But Legarde was still strong, and that was all that mattered.

"We should make the announcement together," Legarde said suddenly. "From your Ministry. It is time that our people remember that the magical world is not defined by Muggle boundaries, and that we must stand together…or fall together."

_And how many times did Peter say that before it got through your thick skull? _James thought to himself, but smiled outwardly. The end was what mattered. "And so we shall," Wizarding Britain's Minister of Magic replied. "We shall stand together."

--------------

"Are you finished?" Sirius asked quietly, bringing his head up from staring at the map again. In many ways, it was almost impossible to believe—further study of the map had revealed that the interior of the castle was also detailed, and he'd continued to explore that while the others had argued. It had also given him an excuse to ignore the hundreds of questions, spoken by almost every Auror—

"Are we _finished_?" Jason Clearwater demanded furiously. "What right do you have to ask that? Four hours ago, you arrived on Avalon looking like you were going to die, and now you expect us to believe that everything is _fine_? 'Your' lab stinks of Dark Magic, and—"

"Jason!" Hestia's furious voice cut through her student's rant, but her eyes were every bit as angry as Clearwater's. Sirius knew that Jones had not stopped Clearwater for his sake, either—she was only shutting Jason up so Alice could talk. The pair had only just arrived on Avalon, probably moments before Sirius had returned, but they'd already been sucked into the conflict.

_Too bad I took that walk around Muggle London to calm myself down, _Sirius thought distantly. _I might have stopped this before it spiraled out of control._

But no. He couldn't. It had been out of control since he'd walked away from Frank and Alice at six o'clock that morning.

"You owe us answers, Sirius." The number two Auror in the division spoke quietly, but there was no mistaking the steel in her voice.

Slowly, he lowered the map to the table, careful to fold it along the same lines as before—old folds, which must have been there for centuries. "Perhaps I do," Sirius acknowledged evenly, sitting back in his hair. "But I'm afraid that it's not going to be something you want to hear."

Sirius crossed his hands on top of the map and waited for the explosion. Angry glares, however, did not translate into more shouting. Instead, Alice continued

"I doubt that there is something we can like less than you practicing Dark Magic," Alice pointed out. "And hiding it from us."

"You would have stopped me, would you not have?"

"Probably."

"There you have it, then."

A rumble ran around the table, a quiet one that nonetheless did little to hide the strain everyone was feeling. They were down to twenty-five Aurors after injuries and deaths, but every one of them was in the room. Four others had been moved to St. Mungo's because of the severity of their injuries, and Sirius knew that at least one of them would be lost forever. Gabriel Binns had been blinded by shrapnel, and unless the healers at St. Mungo's could work a miracle, he would stay that way for life. Terry Scott's torn face was responding well to healing, yet he'd still be there for weeks. The same went for Derek Dawlish, whose internal injuries were severe enough that Sirius was still surprised he'd survived, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had lost his wand arm and wand during the attack.

But twenty-four other Aurors were staring at Sirius with narrowed eyes. "What have you done?" Frank finally asked, his voice more pleading than cold—and _frightened_, Sirius realized.

He shivered. _Is this how they see me?_

"I have done what is necessary," Sirius replied quietly. "No more…no less."

He paused. Took a deep breath as they stared. Let it out.

"For years we have fought Voldemort. Countless would-be 'heroes' have attempted to defeat him, either on their own or with others. But they always did so conventionally, thinking that the right spell, the right moment, or the right _motivation _would slay him. It was as if deserving to win would make it happen.

"Hundreds have died this way. Even Dumbledore, for all his strength, fell into the same trap. No one—not once—has been willing to take the necessary steps, to affect the necessary _change_, to defeat Voldemort.

"This is what I have done," Sirius said quietly. "This is what I will continue to do."

"But you…" Tonks started in a half-whisper, then trailed off when Sirius shook his head.

"You have trusted me in the past," he continued. "And I have never betrayed that trust. I must ask you now to continue that trust… No matter what may come."

Silence greeted his words, until finally, Alice nodded.

"We have trusted you thus far, and no one has done what you have done. You faced have Voldemort three times…three times _face _to _face_, and survived. If that is not the mark of a man we should trust, I do not know what is." She nodded again.

"I will support you."

"As will I," Frank said quietly. The others followed, and twenty-two voices concurred. The immediate reaction made Sirius blink—he'd not expected acceptance, nor understanding. In fact, he would not have been surprised if he had been forced to leave Avalon. Sirius understood the danger in what he was doing, and that the Aurors _did not dabble in such magic. _Even Moody had not.

And he had the distinct impression that his Mentor would not be proud of him now.

--------------

"Transit umbra, lux permanent," James began, looking out at the sea of reporters and not reading from his notes. "Shadow passes, light remains."

To his left, Eugène Legarde continued. "Almost two thousand years ago, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavius Augustus caused the creation of les Aurors. Their purpose, he said, was to guard the world from evil. Tout le monde—the entire world. Not just one corner."

James picked up speaking once again.

"Over the centuries, the once strong Roman Empire splintered into independent nations. The Wizarding world did the same. We fought wars with each other, and fought wars on our own. The unity against darkness failed.

"But no longer." James leaned forward, peering closely at the crowd. "The divisions end here. Hope is not lost, so long as we have one friend to stand beside us—and Wizarding Britain has found that friend. We no longer stand alone."

"This morning," Legarde explained, "we have signed a treaty. Magical France and Magical Britain will stand together against evil, honoring the oldest and finest traditions of the Wizarding World. We hope that other nations will heed the call, and awaken as France has. Too long has your nation borne this burden alone." He smiled. "Today, the shadow passes."

--------------

"The Distance Seeing Charm," Dung Fletcher said without preamble. "Mandatus Prospicio Subigum."

Sirius' head snapped up from his half-eaten dinner, his eyes going wide. "What?" he managed.

"I never remembered hearing the incantation, but I know I must have."

Sirius stared. Dung stood in the half-open doorway of the Old Suite, where Sirius had retreated to eat in peace. Doing so had not helped much; though he'd skipped lunch to listen to James' speech on the WWN, Sirius found that he wasn't very hungry. He hadn't eaten in even more hours than he'd been awake, but his stomach was strangely quiet. The lack of hunger, however, had been merely disquieting. This was downright frightening.

It was more the emptiness in Dung's voice than anything else, more the fact that the man who'd left the Aurors forever had come back to Avalon. And there was something terrified in Fletcher's eyes, amid the pain. _Pain?_

"Come in, Dung," Sirius said around the sudden tightness in his throat. "Please. And sit down."

Noticeably, Hogwarts' Dark Arts professor closed the door behind him, before unsteadily wandering over to a giant armchair and sinking into it. He was silent for a long moment while Sirius waited, and finally the younger man could wait no longer.

"What are you saying?" he asked, but never even heard the last two words of his own sentence.

_"I know you will resist me," the quiet voice said in his ear as Sirius struggled for air. "The strength of will that you possess is the likes of which I have seldom seen." _

_Cold fingers stroked his cheek and Sirius tried to jerk away, but the chains held him fast. He was flat on his back, held to a metal table with burning restraints that had tightened so much he could hardly breathe. And the effort it took to fight back that spell again and again was mind numbing. How many more…?_

_"But it is not enough," Voldemort whispered. "You know this. I know this. It is only a matter of time." _

_A frigid smile.__ He could barely make it out through eyes blurred by exhaustion and agony._

_"And a matter of pain."_

_Sirius coughed. Speaking burned, but he'd resisted this long. "I—"_

_Something slammed into his mouth the moment he spoke, cold metal and fiery pain. He screamed and tasted blood, choked on the salty taste and then screamed again when the pain increased. Something wrapped around the back of his head, and agony tore through his tongue and jaw. He could not stop screaming._

_"Oh, yes." Distantly, he heard the voice. "How much pain can you take before you stop fighting?"_

"Crucio!"_ Another voice. Bellatrix? "Rodolphus? Through his pain, Sirius couldn't even tell if it was male or female. Only that it wasn't _his_ voice."_

_Agony.__ Blackness. Blood pouring down his throat. It went on and on._

_And then the cold words:_

_"Mandatus Prospicio Subigum!"_

"Sirius? Are you all right?" Dung shook his arm, and Sirius yanked away without thinking, breathing hard. A long moment passed before he felt securely in the present once more.

"Sorry." He swallowed. "Memory."

_But why now?_He had no answer, did not know why it was so perfectly clear. For months, Sirius had thought the memories were behind him, thought that he had moved on. But not now.

"I know that feeling," the other breathed, and suddenly Sirius remembered _what _had triggered the memory. He swung around to face Dung once more, his own experiences forgotten.

"The incantation. What about it?"

Dung took a shuddering breath; he was pale now. "The Distance Seeing Enchantment," he said softly. "When you first mentioned it, months ago, something struck me…but I remembered nothing. Now, though…"

"Now?" Sirius felt his chest go tight.

"Someone betrayed the Riddle House Raid. I think it was me."

---------------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Here it comes—two chapters to go, and they'll be out before 2005. So stay tuned for **PR42: To Strive To Seek, To Find**, and please let me know what you think of this one. Thanks again for reading, and Happy Holidays.


	42. Chapter 42: To Strive, To Seek, To Find

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Two: To Strive, To Seek, To Find_

* * *

October 9, 1992. A small paragraph in the bottom right hand corner of the last page of _Transfiguration Today_ told the heartbreaking story of murdered dreams, last chances, and unspeakable courage. Few who read the simple words understood the cost…but those who mattered, those who listened and fought, remembered. And they mourned.

**Nicholas Flamel (1326-1992), the immortal alchemist and famous creator of the only known **

**Philosopher's Stone, perished in Azkaban yesterday. His wife, Perenelle (1323-1992) died **

**in**** the garden of Stone Grove, the ancestral Flamel residence, a few minutes later. Unknown **

**members of the Order of the Phoenix were with Perenelle in her last moments. **

Lily was among them, of course, and would never forget the old woman's courage as she sought her own end. With the last of the Elixir safely locked away inside Grimmauld Place, Perenelle had faced her death with a smile, and had squeezed Lily's hand at the last moment, telling her that she already knew Nicholas was gone. Lily had wept but a little—perhaps it was easier to bear loss when one knew it was coming, or maybe she'd just seen too much death. Either way, Perenelle had passed away in peace, and suddenly it was time to move on.

She had looked up at the sky the next day, wishing she could enjoy the beauty of the sun setting overhead. Perenelle had asked that her ashes be released on this day, the birthday that she would always be one day away from reaching. Lily had done so on a beautiful evening, and had stood alone afterwards, simply looking up. However, even Lily had lost her appreciation for such beauty over the years; though she'd once enjoyed drawing such scenes and watching them come to life under her pencil's tip, she'd lost that talent somewhere during the war years. It hadn't been a conscious loss, really; Lily had simply stopped drawing and had never missed it.

But she missed it now. Desperately. And she knew that Perenelle and Nicholas would have loved to share that sunset, would have loved to chuckle at the clouds' funny shapes as the colors merged in the sky. Somehow, though, the thought made her smile instead of crying. Maybe it was just time.

"Goodbye," she whispered to the clouds, knowing that the Flamels would hear her. Though neither would come back as ghosts, she knew they were there. Somewhere.

--------------

The witch had very short curly hair and a rather round and flabby face; in addition to that, she wasn't precisely _thin_, and looked very undignified when she was all but bouncing in a mixture of fear and excitement. The worse thing, however, was her irritating and high pitched voice.

"I could, of course, have taken it to the Minister of Magic," she simpered, sliding closer to him while he tried hard not to shiver in revulsion—but not too hard. "But I did not think it _appropriate, _given the circumstances."

"The circumstances," he repeated flatly, wishing that she didn't reek of that awful perfume.

"Of course," Umbridge replied promptly, not seeming to hear the ill-concealed sarcasm in his voice. Then her chubby fingers reached out for the parchment she'd handed him moments before.

"I think I will keep this," Snape told her pointedly, but she kept trying to grab the parchment away.

"Hem, hem." She glared at him, but he met the toadish woman's gaze with a sharp look of his own. Still, the idiot pressed on. "Don't you think it better if I—"

"If you present this _prophecy _to the Dark Lord?" Snape snorted. "No, I do not think it better. In fact, I think doing so would probably cause your death—unless that is what you wish, of course?"

"Of course it isn't!" she snapped, finally losing her cool. He sneered in response, but she ignored it. "I hardly think that He-Who—the _Dark Lord_—would slay a mere witch for bringing him something of such…_value._"

Snape stopped resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It simply wasn't worth the effort. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?" he drawled.

_Why can't she have gone to Lucius instead of me? _he thought suddenly. _He'd have just killed her, and done the Wizarding world a well-needed service. Whereas I don't want to kill her, even if she is a toad._ He did resist the urge to snap at her. Knowing Umbridge, she'd just fight back and prolong the painful discussion.

"Perhaps…" she hesitated. "Perhaps it would be best for you to bring the prophecy to him."

"Yes. Perhaps it would," he replied, lacing his voice with sarcasm just to see if she'd notice. Umbridge didn't.

She continued in a little girlish voice, sounding hopeful. "But you will tell him?" she asked. "You will tell the Dark Lord who found the prophecy?"

"I believe you meant to say who _stole _the prophecy," Snape corrected her coldly.

"I would never—" Her bug like eyes grew wide.

"Of course you wouldn't." The Death Eater snorted. "I recognize the handwriting in this corner, _Dolores._ It is Dumbledore's, which means you _liberated _this prophecy from his papers at the Ministry. Do you deny it?"

"Do you deny that this prophecy will be invaluable to your master?" she shot back, showing spine.

Snape laughed at her. "Begone, witch, before I kill you and take the credit for myself."

"You would not dare!"

"Don't tempt me." The accompanying sneer made her scamper away, but Snape was not watching her. Instead, his eyes were locked on the words written carefully on the top right hand corner of the old paper, written in handwriting he knew well.

_Found amongst the belongings of the late Cassandra S. Trelawney after her death in 1699. Origin unknown, but believed to be genuine by Sybill P. Trelawney upon discovery in 1983. Written in an unknown hand. _

He stared at those comments long after Umbridge was gone, standing alone in the empty Muggle park she'd foolishly chosen to meet in. Why he had come, Snape had no idea, but he was glad to have done so now—at the very least because it let the Order understand Umbridge just a little bit better. _Lying toad_, he thought to himself, but even Snape hardly paid attention to those words. Dumbledore's comments were much more interesting—why write them in the first place? It wasn't like Dumbledore to make notes upon his own belongings…unless he knew that they'd be found. Or meant for them to be.

Snape scowled. Yet another mystery had been caused by Dumbledore; even after his death, the old man could still influence their world. He smiled for a moment, remembering, but the expression faded quickly enough. Too much had happened, and this was too important.

Sighing, he read the words again. He did not have much time before he was due on Azkaban, and hardly any more than that before he was expected elsewhere. Still, there was more present on that parchment than met the eye, even when he read it for a fifth time. This prophecy couldn't _possibly _mean what he thought it did…could it?

_When darkness darkens innocent eyes_

_And when sick hearts see no way to survive_

_Alone—forgotten—from the shadows comes one_

_One chosen by fate, betrayed by choice_

_Yet still must stand—_

_Must stand—_

_Come the dark end, the forgotten will recall:_

_Yet a child but chosen by fate_

_His actions—in shadow—shielded from the dark_

_While time winds down until his moment_

_Until he—not the other—shall show his mark_

_And before the darkness conquers the dawn_

_He who was pushed aside shall save them all._

--------------

"What's that?" Fred whispered from Harry's left, stopping so suddenly that George almost fell out from underneath the Invisibility Cloak.

"Will you _stop _doing that?" his twin demanded.

"Sorry," Fred started. "I wasn't—"

"Thinking, I know. It happens to the best of us."

"_Ooomph_" an invisible force slammed into all three Misfits' backs, sending the impromptu trio tumbling forward. Ron swore.

"I thought we told you not to stop!" the youngest Weasley brother hissed.

The disadvantage of having two Invisibility Cloaks, as the Misfits were quickly learning, was that one group had no way of seeing the other. That night alone, the two groups had run into each other at least four times, not counting this one, and everyone was getting irritable. _And it's making pranks harder! _Harry thought with exasperation. _Here's hoping that Snape's nowhere nearby…_

"Ron, don't be so loud!" Hermione added. "Someone's going to hear you!"

"As if they won't hear you," Ron retorted sourly, making Fred and George snicker. "Besides, I don't hear you telling Fred and George to shut—"

"Shh!" Ginny cut them off. "There's something in the trees."

"How d'you know?" George demanded, and Harry could see him squinting in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

"I'm wearing the glasses, troll brain," she shot back.

"Hey!"

"Will you _be quiet!_" Hermione snapped. Both twins turned to face her, even though they knew fully well that they couldn't see Hermione, no matter how hard they tried.

"Well, no, really, I don't think we will," Fred replied archly.

"Perhaps tomorrow," George added.

"Or if you ask nicely."

"Very nicely."

Both grinned and spoke together. "But you have to say please."

Harry tried to choke back laughter, but met with no success. It didn't help that the twins were also snickering, and that Ron was very obviously laughing out loud. Of course, they _should _have been trying to be quiet; all of the Misfits knew that being out on the grounds after lights out was bound to get them detention if they were caught. However, Harry figured that if a professor was going to spot them, it would have happened already, especially with Ron using words that would have made Mrs. Weasley screech loud enough to break glass.

"Ow!" Fred suddenly yelped. "What was that for?" he demanded, swinging around to glare at George and Harry, who only stared back in confusion. "And who was that?"

"Who was what?" Ron echoed.

"Someone kicked me!"

"Oh. Sorry," Hermione said in a very small voice. "I was aiming for Harry."

George snorted. "And here I was thinking that Harry is the one who needs glasses. You'd better get your eyes checked out, Hermes."

"Well, I couldn't see you!" she shot back. "And my name is not Hermes! Hermes was a Greek god, and male, too!" Without warning, Ginny gasped and whispered something, but Hermione's rant rode right over her and no one seemed to notice. "Really, is one name that hard to get right? It's bad enough that everyone mispronounces my name by accident—the two of you have to do it on purpose!"

Harry snickered, then coughed to cover it up. There was no way that he wanted to become Hermione's next victim.

"Oh, no. Dear brother, you've got it wrong," Fred interjected. "Hermes could fly. We all know that Hermione can't."

"Shut up," she muttered. Harry could just imagine her going red, and felt sorry for his friend. He opened his mouth to defend her, but Ginny got in first.

"Yes, _do _shut up. There's someone in the trees."

"I thought you said it was some_thing_," Ron objected.

"Well, I did, but—"

"What is it?" Harry interrupted.

"I don't know. It's a shadow, like a cloak, and not that far away." There was a slight rustling noise. "Right there."

"There?" Ron echoed. "I don't—"

"I see it!" Hermione cut him off. "That _is_ someone, and it's too tall to be a student. The Forbidden Forest is really dangerous. I wonder who might be foolish enough to wander around there in the dark."

"Where?" Fred, George, and Harry all demanded at once, wishing that they could see the direction Ginny was pointing in. The Misfits were just on the edge of the forest, and there were trees in every direction but behind them. No amount of squinting showed Harry where Ginny's mystery person was, and he was about to pull off the cloak when she spoke again.

"There. Right next to the—"

"Have the little kiddies come out to play?" a disembodied voice suddenly asked, sending chills down Harry's spine.

"Oh, no," Hermione breathed.

"Oh, _yes_," the voice purred. It sounded female, but Harry was sure he'd never heard it before.

Harry gulped, willing his voice not to shake. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Oooh. It's little baby Potter. Didn't your precious godfather tell you about me?" A high-pitched giggle. "We had such _fun _together!"

"It's a Death Eater," Ron said under his breath, just loud enough for the other Misfits to hear. "It has to be."

"Of course I'm a Death Eater, little Weasley!" she announced. "Just like you're a blood traitor."

All four Weasleys growled angrily, and Harry spoke quickly before they could get their mouths open.

"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but there is one of you and six of us." Suddenly feeling bold, he stepped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, raising his wand to chest height. A long moment passed with him standing alone in the darkness, then Fred swore. Less than a second later, the others stood beside him.

She laughed. "As if I would fear six little _children_." The shadow—Harry had finally spotted it—shifted amongst the trees. "Do you think you can hurt one of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers?"

_"Lumos," _George suddenly whispered, sending light shining into the trees. Immediately, the shadow vanished, only to appear twenty feet to the right. She shifted left again when George tried to follow her with the light, laughing. Was she Apparating? No one could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.

"Shall we dance, George Weasley?" she giggled louder. "Shall we dance the beautiful dance of pain and death?"

Harry felt his blood freeze as her shadow moved slightly; light reflected briefly off of a tree and he saw her wand coming up. Hermione started to speak, but a loud voice boomed:

"Hey! What are yeh six doin' out here?"

It was Hagrid. Instinctively, the Misfits spun to face the half-giant, who strode towards them purposefully, followed by a growling Fang. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny whip the glasses off and drop them unobtrusively into her pocket, then put on her most innocent smile. Likewise, both twins stepped forward to block Hagrid's view of the Invisibility Cloaks, now puddled up on the ground like so much shiny water. The Misfits had plenty of practice.

"We were, uh…" Hermione trailed off as Harry suddenly twisted right, realizing that no one was watching the shadow any longer.

"She's gone," he said quickly.

"Who's gone?" Hagrid asked just as Ron replied:

"She can't be gone. She was just there!"

_"Lumos!"_Six voices snapped at once, illuminating the Forest like the sun. Shadows shifted as the trees blew in the wind, but there was nothing else. No one else.

Ginny squinted through the glasses that had somehow wound up back on her face. "There's nothing," she said heavily. "Nothing at all."

"I told you so," Harry muttered, angry at himself for forgetting to watch. He was pretty sure that he'd guessed who the mysterious woman was, but what would _she_ be doing at Hogwarts?

Fear seized up in his throat, and he swung back to face Hagrid as the gamekeeper spoke.

"Now, the three of yeh need ta tell me what in the world yeh think yer doin' out here at this time o' night," the big man said sternly. "It's dangerous out here."

George started to object, but Harry stomped on his foot.

"You're right, Hagrid," he agreed quickly. "It is dangerous. And there's a Death Eater in the forest."

"Blimey! Now, Harry, don't go saying thin—" Hagrid peered at him closely. "Yer not jokin', are yeh?"

"No." He swallowed. "I think it was Bellatrix Lestrange."

--------------

Six had arrived, and they were sharing a rowdy dinner with their English counterparts, though Sirius felt little desire to join in the excitement. While the entry of France into the war—and the appearance of Jean d'Orville and five other French Aurors (led by Alice Longbottom, who had Apparated to Paris to bring them)—was certainly an uplifting sign, Sirius felt hard pressed to share the others' optimism. Or even their happiness.

He felt cold and alone, standing in the dark trees and watching the others party through the Main Villa's windows. Their losses were still felt—eight dead Aurors and four in St. Mungo's could not be ignored—but the division was healing. All of their wounded comrades were now out of bed and mobile again, save for those in St. Mungo's, and the Aurors had a right to celebrate. They were no longer alone, and as James had said, hope was not lost so long as they still had friends.

But it was hard to remember that, standing in the darkness, cold and alone.

Sirius shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. It had been a lonely two days as the potions took hold, dark and nightmare filled. For months, Sirius had believed that the memories had faded, but now they were back full force. Because of them, he'd slept very little—perhaps two hours in the last four days—and he was exhausted. And he was still remembering. Remembering, in vivid and perfect clarity, every moment of his life.

_The Memory Enhancer_, he suddenly realized. The thought had been lurking around in his mind for days, and Sirius finally managed to grasp it. He gulped, then whispered:

"_Damn_. The bloody thing is retroactive."

Why he felt the need to swear, Sirius did not know. Doing so certainly did not make him feel any better, but the urge was still there. Really, he wanted to scream at the universe in frustration, bellow _WHY ME?_ at the stars, but he knew it would do no good. And displaying anything that even resembled insanity would only make the Aurors trust him even less.

They were treating him more coldly now, sometimes as if he was made of glass. They had agreed to trust him, but Sirius knew that was hard. He was dabbling in the forbidden, choosing a road that no sane man would take. _Am I even still sane?_ he wondered distractedly, and found that he did not much care. Thinking about it took a gigantic effort, but as Sirius searched his soul, he found that it was still his own. So, likewise, was his sanity, but both were growing harder to hold on to.

There was a darkness gnawing at him. It had been there since before he'd taken the Conmalesco, but had grown as he'd taken the three potions. Sirius had known the risks, of course, just as he had known them when he'd performed the same dark spells on himself that Tom Riddle had once used. But somehow, the results were still frightening. The danger that lurked within him would rise sooner or later, and the darkness would attempt to take control. He'd known that all along. Reading the journal had shown Sirius the entire process, from start to finish; through the words on the page, he had seen Tom Riddle lose himself and become Lord Voldemort.

And he could be next. If he did not fight the darkness—or failed in doing so—Sirius knew that he _would _be next. Yet he had done it anyway, for reasons even Sirius did not fully understand.

_"Tomorrow," _he had told James three days before, but life had turned it into a lie. The Failed Circle had met that night instead, and he'd hardly had time to say a word to his friends. After Dung's heartbreaking admission, little had been said at all; instead, they'd all gone to work, trying to figure out if Fletcher had betrayed them or not.

The facts were still ambiguous, and though no one had stated opinions in that meeting, they would tonight, two days later. Two days was hardly enough time to decide a man's fate, but it was all they could afford. _Will they even give me that much, once they realize what I've been doing?_

Sirius shivered again. The longer he waited before confronting his friends, the harder it would be. He had even wanted to, once—he had so desperately wanted to pour his heart out and tell James everything. But that was then. Now he was becoming afraid.

--------------

Bill toyed with his water goblet, feeling out of place. The seven of them sat quietly in the headmaster's office, speaking little and exchanging fewer glances. Fletcher, seated uneasily on an antique chair, actually looked the _most _comfortable out of everyone, which Bill found extremely unsettling. That was not caused, however, by any lack of trust in Dung's sincerity. Bill simply couldn't believe the sheer silence in the room.

Lily had discussed the French Aurors with Bill before falling silent, yet all the while she'd cast worried glances her husband's way. She had also been distracted—the usually brilliant witch had repeated herself several times, and had hardly heard a word Bill said. In the end, they'd both trailed off, watching the other five instead of talking. Watching four in particular while trying to pretend they weren't.

Bill remembered the "Marauders" from Hogwarts, remembered the four boys who had been remarkably talented mischief makers—but even more remarkable for the friendship they shared. Even then, he had noticed the bond between them. Their care for each other had been so strong that it was obvious to an eleven-year-old boy who hardly knew any of the four. And he had seen them since, together, driving back a hundred Dementors by depending upon nothing more than the bond between four men. He had admired them then, had even been a little jealous. But he had known what they had was special. That there was, quite possibly, nothing else like it in the world.

Where had it gone?

Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus sat scattered around the room. James was to Lily's right, sharing a couch, with Peter to his right in a large armchair that made the short man look tiny. Remus was to Bill's left (after the empty chair), but a small table separated him from Sirius, who he kept looking at as if he expected the dark-haired Auror to speak. Sirius sat next to Dung Fletcher, an odd choice of companions unless he'd done so on purpose.

_Maybe he did, _Bill thought to himself. With Sirius, there was no way to tell, especially these days. Bill had remained quiet during that last meeting on Avalon, still feeling weak and dizzy, and hardly able to believe his ears. He had a hard time associating the cool and _dark _man Sirius had become with the wizard who had stepped into his cell on Azkaban—

_"Who are you?" he asked, staring at the Auror who had just walked into his cell. His rescuer._

_"Sirius Black," the other replied simply._

_"But you're dead!" Bill felt his jaw drop, and he stared at the stranger, trying to figure out if he was dead, hallucinating, or both._

_"People keep telling me that." Sirius smiled tightly, but it was a smile all the same._

He did not smile often these days. In fact, Bill had rarely even seen him since that meeting—despite the Aurors' display of trust, Sirius had stayed locked up in Lab Six, doing Merlin only knew what to himself. When he wasn't there, Sirius wandered the island, seemingly looking for something, though Bill could not tell if he was searching for something on Avalon or simply for inner peace. Glancing at him now, Bill did not think Sirius had found either, and he was beginning to wonder if the other man ever would.

"Where _is _he?" Fletcher suddenly growled, breaking the silence. "I realize he has other _obligations_, but an hour late is a bit much. Even for Snape."

"I imagine he agrees." Lily laughed nervously.

"Dung's right," Peter said in a brittle voice. "It's not like him to be this late. Do you suppose something might have…happened?"

Bill swallowed, thinking of the professor he'd never liked. It was strange being in the Inner Circle and seeing a different side of Snape—still sarcastic and cold, but less aloof than Bill had ever thought possible. And less cruel. Far less cruel.

"We'll know if he does not show up by morning," Remus replied quietly, glancing again at Sirius. However, the head of the Aurors and the Minister of Magic both remained quiet, and Bill sensed an invisible wall between them that a dragon's fire could not have breached. Suddenly, Remus continued in what was plainly a forcibly calm tone. "We'll wait another twenty minutes. If Severus does not arrive by then, we will meet tomorrow night."

"Can we afford to wait?" Dung whispered suddenly, surprising everyone. "I appreciate everyone's efforts, but…"

"Don't even say it," Lily cut him off firmly. "There is always hope, and we will not abandon you because of something _you _did not cause."

The former Auror tried again. "I—"

"No." This time it was James. "Lily's right. What happened to you could have happened to any of us, and we will find a way to help you."

But Fletcher only shook his head, and Bill saw no light in his eyes, even when the others agreed, voicing their support for him. Only Sirius remained silent, sitting next to Dung and staring into the distance.

--------------

"Severus."

The cold voice stopped him when he was almost to the door, making Snape freeze in his tracks. "My Lord?"

"Walk with me," the Dark Lord commanded, rising from his throne and sweeping forward. Severus bowed his assent and remained silent, not missing the angry glares he received from his companions—Lucius, who so hated to be overshadowed, despite his appearance of superiority; Bellatrix, who had so recently been foiled when attempting to sneak onto the Hogwarts grounds; Narcissa, who possessed none of her sister's insanity but all of her cruely; and Rodolphus, who had entered Voldemort's closest circle by virtue of marrying Bellatrix and hardly had a skill aside from a violence and an ability to break anyone. Not one of them appreciated a private moment that any of the others spent with their master—it upset their precarious balance of power and position. Yet it was a game that Severus had been playing for his entire adult life, and he didn't really care what they thought, anyway.

The door closed silently behind them. The pair wandered in silence for several moments, drifting through Voldemort's palace and moving closer to the prison all the while. In the distance, Severus could hear screaming, and a shiver ran down his spine as he realized who it had to be—there was only one living prisoner in Azkaban at the moment.

He fought back the urge to swallow. _And that prisoner is my student, _Severus thought emptily. _What kind of monster does it take to leave him here?_ Regret, however, had no place when one walked by the Dark Lord's side, and he shoved it away. _I'm already damned. What does it matter?_

But it did matter. It always did.

"It is almost time, Severus." The Dark Lord's voice startled him.

Snape blinked. "Yes, My Lord," he replied after a moment. "It is."

Cold laughter. "Does this surprise you?"

"I—" he sighed. "No, My Lord. It does not."

"But you love Hogwarts," the Dark Lord said suddenly, displaying unusual perception.

Despite his best efforts to hide them, Severus was sure that his emotions were written all over his face. "I do."

A low chuckle. "It is fitting, then."

"My Lord?" Coldness seized his heart.

"It is fitting."

--------------

They were contemplating leaving by the time Snape walked in—or, rather, Bill, Dung, and Lily were going to leave, because Sirius had a feeling that the others would not let him leave without first getting an explanation out of him. That thought, however, made him sigh. He'd been ready two nights ago, when reality and the Order of the Phoenix had intervened. Now, he was not so sure.

He shivered as Snape walked in, and resisted the urge to rub his arms for warmth. Doing so never helped.

"I apologize for the delay," Snape said shortly. "I was…detained."

"We understand," Remus replied softly. "Please sit down."

Sit the Death Eater did, in uncomfortable proximity to Sirius, who really wished he'd go away. Their few moments of understanding from that night on Avalon had faded, and Sirius had no desire to associate with the one man who knew _exactly _what potions he had taken. And their affects. While Snape had only brewed the Conmalesco for Voldemort in the past, both the Augeosensus Solution and Memory Enhancer were even more dangerous, a fact Snape better than anyone, save perhaps Sirius. And Snape did not have nearly as many reasons to keep quiet as Sirius did.

"We haven't found anything," Lily began without preamble, her eyes on Snape. "I have already talked to Dung, but the Unicorn Group has not been able to find any cure for the Distance Seeing Enchantment." She took a deep breath. "Except for the old one, of course. Killing the caster."

"I don't suppose you know who cast it," Peter ventured quietly. "It might make things a lot easier."

Dung shrugged helplessly. "I don't remember it being cast," he admitted. "But I think—I know—that it had to have been."

"I disagree."

Every head turned to look at Snape in surprise, and Sirius felt himself grow cold. Yes, this was it. And things always _could _get worse. _Lovely._ He resisted the urge to snort bitterly. It wouldn't help.

"Will you explain?" Remus asked Snape reasonably. Remus was always reasonable.

Snape scowled in response. "I have a difficult time believing that we could uncover this fact so _suddenly _and not dispute it."

"It's not exactly sudden, Severus," Dung interjected. "I have been wondering…for a long time."

"How long?" Snape demanded, his lips pressed tightly together, as if he was trying not to sneer.

Dung shrugged. "Too long. I should have acted before now."

"No. You shouldn't have." Dark eyes swept around the room. "Every _one _of you is missing the most crucial—and obvious—point of all: _What if it isn't Dung?_"

Each member of the Broken Circle swallowed and stared at one another. Except for Sirius—he waited for the rest to drop. It did not take long.

"If not me, then who?" Dung demanded angrily.

"Do you have to ask?" Snape's scowl deepened. Every eye swung to Sirius.

He took a deep breath and let it out again, making sure he had a firm grip on his temper. It was far more prone to escaping his control these days; Sirius had spent years learning to control it (ever since the infamous incident with Snape, Remus, and the Whomping Willow), and now had to relearn everything all over again. Sometimes, he felt as if he was trapped with nowhere to go, and the feeling made him want to lash out, just as it had in childhood. Sirius had thought he had escaped. He was wrong.

"I am not," he said very slowly, "under the Distance Seeing Enchantment."

"How can you be sure?" It was Lily, surprisingly, but her voice was gentle.

"Because I remember it," Sirius replied. "Every moment, and every try."

Her brow creased slightly. "There could be something you don't remember…"

"No. There isn't."

"How can you be sure?" Remus asked quietly.

Sirius sighed. _This is neither the time nor the place._ "I just know."

"Even if it were true, Severus, nothing Sirius could have done explains ICEBREAKER," Dung put in. "He was still in Azkaban, then."

"Nor does that indicate you were at fault," the other replied coolly. "As usual, you are jumping to unfounded conclusions. ICEBREAKER was a Ministry operation as well as an Order one. Too many people knew."

"Not that many," James pointed out.

"Even if so, Voldemort is a sufficiently talented wizard to have uncovered Weasley's surface thoughts and discovered him in that manner."

"I doubt it," Bill replied. "I saw him once or twice during my entire time in Azkaban, and I promise you that the wand and Portkey were the last things on my mind at the moment."

"I agree. It's not very possible," Lily spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "Under the right circumstances, perhaps, but…" She trailed off, shrugging.

"Must we then _assume_ the Distance Seeing Enchantment?" Snape demanded. "My research indicates that it is a very unstable spell, effective only when the caster chooses to peer through the victim's eyes. I find it slightly…_coincidental _that the Dark Lord has discovered two major undertakings in this manner."

Peter glared at Snape. "Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked testily. "Or are you just afraid of being found out as a spy?"

Snape laughed once, then the amusement in his expression faded into a nasty sneer. "Afraid of what, Pettigrew?" he snorted. "The Dark Lord knows I am a spy. He is aware of my position within the Inner Circle. I report to him as often as I do to the Order."

"What?" Suddenly, Bill was sitting up straight and staring at Snape. "You—"

"Of course he knows, Weasley," the Death Eater snapped. "Do you think I could fool him for twelve _years _if he did not know my position? I feed him information, and he believes that my loyalty, in the end, belongs to him."

"Just like we do," Bill said coldly.

Snape only nodded.

Lily, however, held up a hand to forestall whatever James was going to say, breaking up the argument before it could begin. "What are you implying, Severus?" she asked calmly. Still, there was a slight edge in her voice. "Sirius does not believe he is under the influence of the Distance Seeing Enchantment. In the absence of evidence to the contrary, we must agree with Dung's explanation."

"I am saying that he"—Snape jerked his head in Sirius' direction—"does not require the Distance Seeing Enchantment. He has _this_, and the Mark is far more powerful than any mere spell could ever hope to be!"

While speaking, the Death Eater had torn his left sleeve back, exposing his Dark Mark for all to see. Snape's was pure black; it looked more like a tattoo than anything else, dark and foreboding but not constantly burning. Sirius, however, did not even bother to look at Snape's Mark. He knew the symbol well.

"You would know," he told Snape coldly.

Black eyes narrowed. "I'm not speaking about the stain on your soul, Black. I'm speaking of the power it has over your mind."

Sirius stiffened; he could not help doing so. "Power?" he demanded. The word came out far sharper than he intended it to, and the headmaster's office suddenly felt frigid.

"Power," Snape confirmed. "Look at what it's doing to you, fool. Look at what _he's _doing to you. Through you."

"All I have done, I have chosen to do," Sirius replied coolly.

"Have you?"

And suddenly, there was no point in arguing. There was no point in trying to explain. He knew what he had done, and knew why. The others would not understand.

Rising, Sirius strode from the room. Even when Remus called after him, he did not stop. He kept walking, and went the only place he knew to hide. Thus, the man who was growing too dark to trust his friends went to the Isle of Light.

---------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Up next: the last chapter! _Promises Remembered_: Chapter Forty-Three: And Not To Yield—otherwise known as Joe the Husky and the Green Boxer Shorts. Please review, and Happy New Year!


	43. Chapter 43: And Not to Yield

**Promises Remembered**

The Sequel to Promises Unbroken

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Three: And Not to Yield

* * *

_

"I need to talk to you."

The harsh voice startled James out of his reverie; he'd been staring at the cherry top of his brand new desk and trying to decide where he was going to put everything—hardly a minute passed without someone wandering into this office and dropping off something else that he so desperately needed. Dumbledore, James was beginning to realize, had possessed a lot of _stuff_, the usefulness of which his replacement had yet to figure out. After all, what in the world had Dumbledore needed a stuffed Billywig for?

Standing in the doorway of James' reconstructed (albeit with a very different floor plan) office was Severus Snape.

"What are you doing here?" James asked before he could stop himself. Then he glanced at the clock, the giant, grandfatherly, and Muggle affair that it was. _Why did Dumbledore keep _that_ in here?_

"As I said, I need to speak with you." Snape stepped through the doorframe—James did not yet have a door—and seated himself in the spare chair without being invited. "It is a matter of some importance, to both the Order and the Ministry." He hesitated. "And to the Aurors."

Suddenly, James felt as if the temperature in that office had dropped significantly—which was entirely possible, seeing as the entire Ministry of Magic was only three quarters built, and James was quite certain that they hadn't figured out the proper Climate Control Charms yet. "Then why not tell us last night?"

"Last night was not the time."

"I see." Snape did not have to explain why—James already knew, and hated himself for knowing. For almost agreeing. "Then why here? Why risk yourself by coming to the Ministry of Magic?"

Snape laughed mirthlessly. "He knows I'm here."

_"What?"_

"Just as I knew about the Riddle House Raid," Snape replied without the slightest hint of regret. "As I knew it would fail."

"And you didn't _tell _us?" James demanded furiously.

"Of course I did not." His wand was suddenly out, flicking over his shoulder. _"Silencio._If I told you everything I know, it would become painfully obvious where my loyalties lie, and I would be of no use to you. Or to the Dark Lord."

James bit back the reply such casual cruelty so richly deserved only because Snape was right. James could hate it all he wanted, but Snape was right, and he had to trust the man. Had Snape wanted to betray them, the war would have been lost years ago. _If Snape wanted to betray us, we'd all be dead._ James sighed quietly.

"What did you want to see me about?"

"Moody is dead," Snape said without preamble. "The wand and the eye were planted for the Aurors to find, in order to draw them to the Riddle House. Moody has always _been _dead."

For a long moment, James could do nothing but stare. Had it all been for nothing? "Who was screaming, then?"

"Muggles. Random victims." Snape shrugged. "Brought for that express purpose and then slain. Rodolphus was quite pleased to share this fact with me when I asked."

And Sirius had known. "_We have no choice but to act," he had said quietly when the Inner Circle met. "We must do so, or risk losing everything for which we fight. Still…I can only hope I am wrong. If I am not…" _James swallowed. How had he known? _Could _he have known? Snape seemed to sense James' inability to articulate a reply.

"There is, however, no doubt that Moody has been dead since 1988."

James swallowed back revulsion, fear, and anger. "Sirius needs to know this. The Aurors need to."

"That, I leave to you," the Death Eater replied. "I have no desire to speak to your…_friend_." He spat the last word as if it was a curse, and James bristled.

"After last night, I would not blame him for hexing you on sight," the Minister replied, making Snape snort.

"Do you think I fear him, James?"

"No." If there was one thing no one could deny about Snape, it was that he had courage. Incredible courage, to do what he had done—and face what he had faced—for the last twelve years.

"You're wrong," was the quiet reply. "I do fear him. I fear what he will become."

"You don't—"

"You see it. Do not deny it." Snape's eyes were dark, but filled with something. Was that _anger?_ He snarled, "I have seen this happen before."

James started. "What?"

"Ask him what potions I have given him. Ask him what he is doing to himself—willingly and _by choice_, he claims. And then tell me that man, that monster, is your friend."

--------------

Lily was waiting in his office when Dung came back from seeing the students off to Hogsmeade. The moment she saw him, she almost regretted doing so—though he greeted her pleasantly enough, the Transfiguration Professor looked exhausted. There were lines in his pale face that she'd never seen before, and he appeared to have lost weight over the past few days. In short, he was starting to resemble an overstressed Severus Snape, though his hair wasn't nearly so greasy. Thankfully.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Lily," Fletcher said quietly. "As usual, the Weasley twins were up to something, and I ended up giving them detentions. And not allowing them to go to Hogsmeade."

He grimaced. "Unfortunately, what worries me most is that neither seemed especially disappointed." A rare smile crossed his face. "I just hope I'm not their intended victim."

"I'm sure you're not." Despite herself, Lily giggled. Little was amusing these days, but the trouble her son and his friends—the darling 'Misfits' got into was always fun to hear. Lily hadn't been a prankster herself at Hogwarts, but dating and then marrying James had taught her to appreciate the finer points of humor. Besides, she probably knew who their planned target was, unless they proved crazy enough to try pulling a prank on Remus. _I think I'd pay to see the results of that!_

"Right," he said gruffly. The smile was gone. "What did you want to see me about?"

"Just to talk. I know we went over all your symptoms a few days ago, but I wanted to let you know what we're doing."

"_Can_ you do anything?" Dung asked pointedly.

Lily nodded adamantly. "I believe we can. The library at Grimmauld Place has an interesting collection of old spell books, and I actually found the Distance Seeing Enchantment in several of them. There isn't a countercurse for it, but there_ is _information on the spell's creation. By backtracking from there, we ought to be able to develop a cure."

"How long?" Dung swallowed, obviously trying to hide his worry, but unable to.

"A few months," Lily replied with a smile. "Maybe less. Molly Weasley is great at taking spells apart."

"I don't think we have that long," he whispered.

Lily frowned. "It won't be easy in the meantime, Dung, but you can take some time off from teaching if you fear being a danger to your students, and—"

"No, it's not that." He shook his head. "Not entirely, anyway. But…we need an Inner Circle, Lily, and it cannot reform now. I think Remus suspected Sirius before, but it's me. It has to be. Fawkes knows."

"Are you so certain?" she asked.

"I am."

"Then we'll survive," she reassured him. "We have so far. We only need a few months—it could be as little as thirty days. And then the Circle can reform."

"I'm not sure if we have that time," Dung replied flatly.

Lily reached out and squeezed his hand. "We do. You'll see." She rose, releasing his hand. "I will come back next week to tell you about our progress."

"Right." He stared into nothingness. "I'll see you then."

--------------

Morning. Dawn. Sunrise. They were supposed to be happy times, signs of beauty and of hope. New beginnings. Banishment of darkness.

Sirius snorted. "Right."

Perhaps sleeping would have helped, but as hard as he'd tried, sleep had not come. Sirius had merely lain awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Remembering. _Remembering_.

_"You amaze me, sometimes, Sirius. I freely admit it." Cold fingers stroked his forehead. "But why waste so much strength fighting me? Would you truly prefer to die here, forgotten and alone?" _

_"Yes." Speaking burned. He tasted blood. He did not care._

_"I offer you the world… Is that so much less attractive than a life of pain?"_

_"Ten years." Sirius wheezed in pain. "Ten years…I've said no."_

_"Ten years, and still I have offered," Voldemort countered quietly. Fingers traced along Sirius' jaw, making him flinch in pain. "And still the offer remains."_

_His fuzzy vision caught movement as the wand rose. Sirius hardly had time to brace himself. _"Crucio!"

_His world exploded in agony; fireworks went off before his eyes. Still, the Dark Lord's last words sank through Sirius' weak screams. Soft, and tempting—but not tempting enough, even through all the pain._

_"Remember that."_

Shuddering, Sirius sat up. His breaths were coming in short gasps, and he remembered the pain so vividly that it was almost like being in Azkaban all over again. Then again, the last few days had been like that. He'd been living through hell, moment by moment, memory by memory. Slowly, he got his breathing under control and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A flick of his hand sent the covers flying back into place.

He shivered, despite the fact that the room was warm. Very warm, actually—he'd made sure of that before trying to sleep, hoping that extra warmth would help. But it hadn't, and Sirius had almost stopped caring. There was too much to be done to worry about personal comfort. He dressed absentmindedly, hardly noticing what robes he put on, and only pausing to pick his wand up off the bedside table and slip it in a pocket.

Quietly, he slipped out of his quarters and through the outside doors of the Main Villa, heading again for Lab Six. Now that the Aurors knew what he was doing, he had no visitors, and Sirius was glad for that. Even Tonks and Bill stayed away, which surprised him slightly—Sirius had expected that curious pair to be the first to overcome their fear and seek him out. _Fear._ He'd never wanted to be feared, but he had a feeling that the Aurors _did _fear him now, even when they claimed to suppport his actions.

"You shouldn't have walked out last night," Bill Weasley said quietly as Sirius came around the Main Villa's east corner. Apparently, he'd been wrong. Bill wasn't afraid enough to stay away. Yet.

Sirius stopped. "There was nothing left to be said."

"Wasn't there?"

_Tell him that he's mine._ The words invaded his mind so suddenly that Sirius felt his eyes grow wide. He tensed, feeling darkness, cold, _pain_, intervene—_Tell Fletcher that he is mine._ Bill was staring at him, but Sirius had no inclination to pay the slightest attention to the other Auror. The darkness was suffocating him, and this was _different.._ Something within Sirius had risen to meet Voldemort, had reached out.

Darkness stabbed at his soul, and Sirius shuddered. Whether the pain came from Voldemort or himself, Sirius would never know, but it goaded him into action. Reaching within himself, the Auror did something he had never done before. During the attack on Avalon, Sirius had pushed back, but now _he_ attacked. Using every bit of his strength, Sirius forced the pain back at Voldemort, forced the Dark Lord to swallow the darkness. For a split second, he felt pain along their link, and the world went black—only to clear again a moment later. Sirius was still standing between the Main Villa and the Library. Bill was still staring.

"Are you all right?" the younger man asked worriedly.

Sirius swallowed, trying to bury the fact that the sheer speed in which he'd succeeded in pushing Voldemort away—the fact that he'd managed at all—had frightened him. "I'm fine."

"What was that?"

"A memory," he lied, shaking his head as if to clear it. What had Voldemort meant? Did he even want to know? A hundred times, the Dark Lord had said those same words to Sirius, had claimed to own himCertainly, he'd said them to Dung in the past. But was this different?

"You're lying," Bill replied quietly. He sounded hurt.

"Yes. I am."

Was there anything left so say? No, there wasn't. There still wasn't.

Yet again, Sirius walked away.

--------------

"Ready?" George asked, and the others nodded.

"This had better work," Hermione breathed, lifting her wand.

"Of course it'll work, Hermione," Fred reassured her. "You researched it."

"Shut up," she growled, making both twins giggle until Ginny elbowed George in the stomach.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?"

"Because you're a prat, that's why," she replied cheerfully. "Now let the girl work."

Fred snorted. "You're no fun, Gin."

"I'm plenty of fun," she replied aloofly. "Just not when you're busy making a bloody—"

"Ginny!" Ron gasped in shock.

The Misfits snickered as she turned to look innocently at her older brother. Even Hermione lowered her wand to glance over her shoulder—the pointed look Ginny was wearing was wonderful. "Oh, don't act so surprised. It's not like you don't say things Mum would ground you for."

"But that's different!"

"Ron, I learned those words from you."

Hermione snickered as the youngest Weasley boy went bright red. Fred and George chortled. Ron tried again. "I—"

"Will the two of you stop arguing so we can get on with this before we get caught?" Harry suddenly intervened.

"Good idea," Hermione piped up, turning to the door and trying to remember the _exact _unlocking pattern that she'd read in _Locks, Keys and Getting Around Both_, which was quite possibly the _only _useful book ever writtenby Professor Vindictus Viridian. Hermione smiled to herself, then very carefully began tapping her wand against the lock. Right. Left. Up. Up. Left. Up. Down. Diagonal—

"Who's going to catch us, anyway?" Ron demanded from behind her. "Everyone's either at Hogsmeade or studying, and no one even knows where Professor Snape is—"

"Are you so sure _everyone's _in Hogsmeade, Ron?" a voice asked.

Ron sputtered, the twins swore, Ginny jumped, and Harry spun around so quickly that he knocked Hermione's arm forward, shoving her wand into the keyhole and inadvertently completing the unlocking charm. With a click, the door swung open a few inches.

"What are you doing here, Percy?" George demanded.

"Shouldn't you be in Hogsmeade?" Fred added angrily. "With your _darling_ Penelope?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder in time to see Percy draw himself up importantly. "_I _am a prefect. I don't need to explain myself to _you_. In fact, you six ought to be the ones explaining. What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing trying to get into Professor Snape's personal quarters?"

"Succeeding," Ron muttered, but Percy ignored him.

"And why do you care? D'you want to get into trouble with us?" Fred asked.

"No, he'd never be seen with such lowly riffraff as trouble-makers," George corrected his twin. "Would you Perce?"

"Don't call me that," the older Weasley snapped.

"Sure, Perce."

"No problem."

"Will you two _shut up!_" Percy finally snarled, his self-control fracturing. Hermione giggled; she couldn't help herself. It was one thing to follow the rules, but Percy was really too much. Even if he was right sometimes.

"No."

"Not likely."

"Never," Ron added.

"Haven't you learned by now?" Ginny asked cheerfully.

Harry just snickered.

"I order you to get away from Professor Snape's quarters immediately!" Percy bleated, and all the Misfits laugh.

"Order us, do you?" Ron put in. "Oh, my."

"I'm frightened," George piped up. "Are you, little brother?"

"To death," Ron replied.

Fred snickered. "I'm shaking."

"Horrified," Harry added.

"I think I'll go cry now. Sob in my pillow for a bit," was Ginny's addition.

"I think I'll finish the prank and be off." Hermione smiled at Percy. "Will that work? I need to get some studying in, anyway."

Percy sputtered, and the others never got a chance to learn what he might have said. A sudden gust of cold air blew the door to Professor Snape's quarters open, and magical candles flared to life. There was something lying on the ground only a few feet away from the door.

"What the—" George started, then cut himself off.

Hermione felt cold. "Oh, no," she whispered, feeling the others crowd around her. But she had the best view, and there was no mistaking what _those _were.

"Those…those are Death Eater robes…" Percy managed to stutter.

Ron whistled. "Dad was right…"

"I _knew _it," Hermione whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "I _knew _it wasn't just Quirrell."

"We have to do something." Suddenly, Percy's voice was firm. "We cannot allow him to trick Professor Lupin any longer."

"Umm… He's not tricking anyone," Harry spoke up, startling the others. "Professor Lupin knows. He's—it's not like it seems."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded before she could stop herself. She'd been friends with Harry for almost a year and a half, now, and she knew when he was hiding something. This was definitely one of those cases.

"Well, er, I—"

"That doesn't matter," Percy interrupted firmly. "We need to tell someone _right now_."

"But—" Harry didn't even fully get the word out before Percy spun on his heels and walked away. "Wait! You don't understand!"

Percy kept walking, and Ginny swore. Meanwhile, Hermione spun to face Harry. "You're saying that Professor Lupin knows? That Snape's on our side?"

"Yes!"

"Then we'd better stop him before he goes and does something we'll _all _regret," George interjected grimly.

"Good call," Ron agreed just as Hermione said:

"Let's go."

Together, the Misfits chased after Percy, Never Non-Bouncing Bouncy Balls completely forgotten.

--------------

"What do you think, Lucius?" Such was always a treacherous question when asked by the Dark Lord, but fortunately, he'd been expecting this one ever since Snape had delivered the prophecy into their master's hands.

"I think it changes everything, My Lord," he replied promptly.

"Do you?"

"Yes, My Lord. Combined with what we know of the 1981 prophecy, it indicates that the one by the Oracle at Delphi may not apply in the manner we had thought." Of course, the Dark Lord already knew this, but he liked to hear people think. _Well, some people, anyway_, Lucius thought to himself. _Worthy people.__ I really can't imagine him having this conversation with Rodolphus. _

"Have I been pursuing the wrong enemy, do you think?" the dangerous voice asked.

"I—" Time to tread carefully. Very carefully. "I believe that Black needs to die, My Lord."

Voldemort laughed. "How diplomatic!" The cold smile was frightening, even for Lucius, who had been one of the first Death Eaters. Then the expression hardened. "Find the boy, Lucius. Find him and bring him to me."

"Which one, My Lord?"

"Potter."

--------------

Dung sighed and glanced down at the empty paper, dragging his head out of his hands. He had to write, he knew—but what? How? To whom? Words would not come, but he did not have much time. The world did not have much time.

His head hurt. Everything did, including that empty ache in his soul that had been there ever since he'd realized that he _had _to be under the Distance Seeing Enchantment. His memories were fragmented, at best—he never remembered the incantation, but he did remember pain, remembered fighting something that could not be defeated. More importantly, he remembered losing…and he knew that by doing so, he had betrayed everything he held dear. Everyone who had done so much to help him, to rescue him from Voldemort's hands.

There was almost as much blood on his hands, though. Operation ICEBREAKER—it was surprising that Bill Weasley could even look at the man who had doomed him to Azkaban—and the Riddle House Raid were only the two most glaring failures. So many had died because Dung had not fought enough. Sirius had fought back the Distance Seeing Enchantment; Dung knew he had. But Dung Fletcher had failed. He had failed and become Voldemort's tool.

"Voldemort." He meant to whisper the name, but it came out half as a sob. How long had it taken him to _re_learn to say that name? Too long. He should have known better.

Should have known better.

Slowly, he lifted his quill and began to write. Perhaps, if he cared enough, the words would simply come. His tears certainly fell easily enough, dotting the page and staining the ink.

_Dear Remus…_

--------------

"We need to talk, Sirius," James said quietly, watching his friend's face closely through the fire.

"Not now." The response was immediate.

"Then when?" James demanded, sounding far more sharp than he intended but unable to help himself. He was worried about his friend.

"I don't know." Sirius looked away.

James sighed and tried to contain his temper. "Sirius…Snape has been telling me things, things that worry me. That worry _all _of us."

"I'm not surprised," the other replied flatly.

"What is going on, Sirius?" James pressed. "What are you doing? Snape called you a monster."

Sirius snorted. "Again, I am not surprised." His voice sounded dead, and made James feel cold.

"Then tell me why!"

"Do you think I'm a monster, James?" Suddenly, Sirius turned his head and ice blue eyes zeroed in on James. The deadness was still there, the emptiness remained…but there was a frozen quality to Sirius' eyes that James had never seen before.

Something burned beneath the ice.

"You're my friend," he replied immediately, trying desperately to look away from the chilling gaze but unable to do so. James shivered, but Sirius' expression did not change.

"I hope so."

"Of course you are!" James swallowed. "We're brothers, remember? The four of us—no matter what. And we're here for you, Sirius, always. We just—"

"Then trust me." Sirius turned away, but not before something red flashed in his eyes. "Just this time."

"Sirius—"

Something red.

Sirius cut the connection.

--------------

"I honestly don't believe that—"

"Is there a problem here?" Remus interjected mildly, wandering around the corner and encountering six Misfits versus Percy Weasley, an uneven fight if he'd ever seen one. Of course, they weren't throwing hexes or punches, but the argument was far too vehement to be called anything less mild than an all-out fight. Even Percy was shouting, though he did shut up the moment Remus approached.

Harry did not. "Will you listen for just one moment! I already told you more than I'm supposed to, and if you run off and make a git out of yourself, you might ruin everything! You don't know—"

"That's enough, Harry," Remus cut him off, and was glad to see that James' son flushed red. He turned to look at the others, noticing that Hermione Granger had flushed with embarrassment. "Now, what is going on here?"

"Nothing important, Headmaster," George Weasley tried. "We were just having a family discussion."

"Were you now?" Remus arched one eyebrow, eyeing Hermione and Harry. _Family discussion, my furry left ear, _he thought to himself, trying not to laugh. Obviously, Percy had caught the Misfits in some sort of mischief, and was probably trying to turn them in. This wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, but it was the loudest.

"Well, something like that, anyway," Fred replied lamely.

Remus repressed a smile and turned to the oldest Weasley. He was surprised to see no smile blossom on the prefect's face. "Percy?"

"Professor Lupin, is it true that—"

_"Remus!"_

He spun on instinct; Snape _never _called him by his first name in front of students, and rarely even did so in front of other professors. But the deputy headmaster was striding down the hall purposefully, his pale face set and—_frightened?_ No, but he was shaken, and horror filled his eyes.

Remus rushed forward to meet him. "What happened?"

Snape stopped, ghostly pale and still wide-eyed. For a moment, Remus thought he was having problems forming words, but then he reached inside his robes to withdraw a folded piece of paper. Severus' hands shook as he handed the paper over.

"It's Dung," Severus whispered, and his voice cracked. "He's dead."

"What?" Remus whispered, hardly hearing his own voice. He thought it echoed in the hallway, thought it faded away. His knees were weak, and a sudden weight landed on his chest, making it hard to breathe. "You're…?"

"Poison. Belladonna." Severus' voice was still ragged. "I found the vial."

Remus held the letter—it had to be a letter—against his chest because he could think of nothing else to do. Tears wanted to rise in his eyes, but he forced them resolutely back. There was a time for tears, and this was not it. Not now. Not until he had answers.

Before he could ask, someone else spoke up.

"You killed him, didn't you?" Percy Weasley demanded coldly. Remus spun around as the other six children gaped.

"Percy, no!" Hermione tried to grab his arm, but the older boy pulled away.

"You _poisoned _him, and you're a Death Eater," the prefect spat.

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Suddenly, he felt drained, and he just wanted to sob.

"Be quiet, you stupid brat. You have no idea what has happened," Severus snapped furiously, and Remus thought he saw the glitter of grief in Severus' eyes. Grief both knew the other man would never show. It existed alongside the words both knew Severus would never say—especially not here.

"_I _don't know?" Percy demanded furiously. "I can recognize a murderer when I see one!"

Snape's wand came up with blinding speed, but Remus clamped a hand down on it just as quickly.

"Severus, no!"

For a moment, fury flashed in Snape's eyes, and Remus thought that his deputy might hex him. But the anger faded quickly, drowning under sorrow, and Snape turned away. He strode off without a word, leaving Remus with shaking hands and seven confused children.

He started to turn to them slowly, but spun around when Percy demanded: "Are you just going to let him go, Headmaster? Let him run?"

Remus forced his own anger and grief aside. "Percy…" He took a deep breath. "Professor Snape did not kill Professor Fletcher"—his voice cracked—"and he is not what you think he is."

"We saw the robes," Percy replied fixedly, ignoring it when Fred stepped hard on his foot.

"Professor Snape fights the war in what ways he can," Remus replied slowly. "But he is on our side."

He crossed his arms, very conscious of the letter he had yet to read. "Now, I must ask you not to repeat this: to your friends, to your girlfriend, or to your parents. Too many lives are at risk, including Professor Snape's. Do you understand me?"

Percy glared.

"Percy, I will place a Memory Charm on you if I must. I would greatly regret doing so, but there are things we cannot risk," he continued quietly. "Do you understand me?"

Percy's frown deepened, and a long moment passed before he growled: "I understand. And I won't tell anyone."

He was unhappy, but Remus believed him. The Weasleys had raised honest children, pranksters notwithstanding. They were a good family. "Thank you," the headmaster said softly.

"Who killed Professor Fletcher?" Hermione whispered before he could ask them to leave. The letter was heavy in his hands.

"No one." Remus closed his eyes briefly, then forced them open. "He killed himself.

--------------

Only after the children left and Remus made it to the safety of his own office did he open the letter. It wasn't sealed; just folded neatly—maybe by Snape, but probably by Dung. Fletcher had been like that. Organized and precise.

Remus swallowed back the lump in his throat. _Why did it have to end like this, Dung?_ he wanted to ask, but now it was too late. _Why couldn't you give us a chance?_

But it was over now. No tomorrows. No second chances.

Remus swallowed and began to read.

_Dear Remus,_

_First I must say that I am sorry. I am sorry that I could not be what you needed me to be, and I am sorry that I could not see this through. Maybe I am a coward for choosing this method, but I do not see another way out._

_Do not weep for me. If I may ask you for anything, I ask for that—not because I would think less of you, but because this is my choice. For the last three years, I have been an unwitting traitor, and I have betrayed you, the Order, and all I spent a lifetime fighting for. That wasn't my choice. I was just a tool, then. Nothing more, nothing less. A means to an end for the Dark Lord to use._

_I've heard it said that "a tool is just a tool unless it does the job by itself." Well, Remus, I have done this job for myself. I have ended it, and you may now form a new Circle. I don't think Fawkes will stop you now._

_Please remember that this is my choice. My ending. I refuse to live the rest of my life as half of who I would want to be, knowing that I could betray everything just by being there. Even if the countercurse is found tomorrow, I believe I have done the right thing. At the very least, he won't ever use me again._

_Your friend,_

_Mundungus A. Fletcher _

**

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To Be Concluded**…

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---------------

Ye Olde Author's Note: I do apologize for the absence of Joe the Husky; he's been shifted to _Promises Defended _simply because his scene would not fit. However, look for him in _Promises Defended: _Chapter One: The Final Circle.

Thanks very much for reading—I really do appreciate it, and all of your kind remarks in reviews and on the group. Ending PR is a bit bittersweet for me, but you'll all be happy to know that I opened a new Microsoft Word document the moment I finished PR, titling it "Promises Defended." And I do hope that you'll all stick with me for _Promises Defended_. Look for the first chapter in the next week, perhaps as soon as Monday. For all of you who have yet to join the Unbroken Universe Yahoo!Group, I suggest doing so—that'll be the first place to know that PD is up.

Anyway, Happy New Year to everyone, and thanks again for reading!


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